Читать книгу Creatures of the Chase - Richard - L. M. Ollie - Страница 4

Man is the hunter; woman is his game:

The sleek and shining Creatures of the Chase,

We hunt them for the beauty of their skins;

They love us for it, and we ride them down.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson – The Princess

1

Boston, Massachusetts – December, 1979

Davie knew when he was in deep and right now he was in up to his neck. This particular Shit Creek was in flood and no amount of the old charm and razzle-dazzle was going to help him find a paddle this time. He swallowed another ball of saliva, cleared his throat and tried to keep it all together.

Yeah, that’s what you gotta do Davie boy, just keep it all together man. So the guy you’re lookin’ at is the richest, most powerful son of a bitch that you’ll ever want to see up close. Not to worry, Davie boy, this dude’s specialty is women and the occasional pretty boy maybe, so you’re safe as houses.

So, why am I here, you bastard?

Merhot Capritzo’s eyes moved upwards from the piece of paper he was reading to focus on the young man seated, in some discomfort it would seem, across the polished ebony, glass and chrome desk.

Davie felt his skin crawl as every feature of his face was methodically scrutinized. Blackest damn eyes he had ever seen and the scary part was that they were like dead looking or something. Shit! Hold on man or you’re gonna lose it! And Davie held on - just.

Three days ago now Davie had been summoned to this almost legendary address by a representative of Mr. Capritzo. Nice looking dude too; real smooth his three-piece suit and shiny shoes; a real class act. He was waiting by Davie’s clapped out old Mustang in the parking lot of the university where Davie was suppose to be studying Pre-med. He was failing his courses but getting straight A’s with the chicks. Knocking them over like ten pins. He ought to get bonus points! Sandy haired, blue-eyed, with the fresh-faced charm and gift of the gab of his Irish ancestors, Davie had the world by the balls. Except that right now he was ah …

He had been told to wear a suit and tie. It never occurred to Davie not to, so here he sat in exactly the same outfit he had worn last year when his mother was buried in that big, old, fancy cemetery out at Concord. That was no fun, no fun at all man. He remembered the snow falling, landing in big white globs on top of her coffin as it was slowly lowered into the cold, cold ground. His mother had just enough time before the cancer ate her up to say what she wanted written on her tombstone - Beloved Mother of David Michael Kendall - like she was hoping that he would join her someday, but Davie had it all worked out. He was going to live to be ninety-one then die of a massive heart attack while screwing some nubile teenager in the back seat of one of them flash electric cars of the future. ‘Wham, bam I’m outta here ma’am and I DO thank you!’ Then he was going to be cremated in an oven just like a pizza only when he came out he’d have more than his mozzarella melted!

‘This is a most regrettable situation my young friend. You are, I believe, not yet twenty years of age. Is that correct?’ Capritzo’s tone was strictly business, almost formal, with perhaps just a hint of condescension as he raked the young man over with eyes that would miss nothing.

‘Yes sir. I’ll ah … I’ll be twenty next month, sir.’

‘So young,’ Capritzo sighed as he moved the papers aside. The smile that accompanied the sigh was cool, aloof; the lips moistened repeatedly by a quick, efficient tongue that darted in and out.

‘Like a snake’, Davie thought, then shuddered inwardly. Actually, come to think of it, everything about his man reminded Davie of a snake - the deadly kind. No, not the kind that bites. That would be too easy, too quick. More like the constrictors. You know; the kind that suffocates you while breaking every bone in your body so you’re more compact and easier to swallow.

How old? Hard to say; fifty maybe, but with that well-cared-for, smooth-skinned look that only big money can buy. Davie didn’t believe half the stories told about this guy; didn’t want to either. He was Egyptian or something. Immaculately dressed in a three-piece suit made from the finest wool, his slender frame could almost be described as spare, perhaps because he was tall; six feet tall to be exact with the rigid posture usually reserved for military types - or undertakers. And to top it all off, he had jet black hair drawn straight back to accent a high forehead and a widow’s peak. It made him look even more predatory, more evil if you like, and right now Davie didn’t like so he concentrated instead on his fingers resting none too quietly in his lap.

If it was true that women lined up to sleep with this creep than all Davie could say was that either they had cast iron stomachs or one hell of an itch. Whatever the truth was, one thing was sure, Capritzo had the finest stable of whores this side of the Mississippi. And all of it was high quality stuff too with price tags to match. If he regularly oiled these dames himself, and it was rumored that he did before sending them off with big smiles and a few new tricks of the trade to practice with, he would be one hell of a busy boy.

‘I have learned of your indebtedness purely by chance. Tell me Mr. Kendall, do you have sufficient funds to satisfy Mr. Stark?’

‘Well, I ah … my car is ah…’

‘…1972 Ford Mustang, worth perhaps less than nothing considering that the brakes are in need of major repair. Come, come Mr. Kendall, surely you must have other resources.’

Davie lowered his head.

‘I see. You realize, I trust, that Mr. Stark is quite prepared to make an example of you. The sum of money is incidental to him, the debt negotiable, but alas you have compounded your error when you felt compelled to bed his current mistress. As I have said, a most regrettable situation. Has it occurred to you, Mr. Kendall, that you may well lose your life all for the paltry sum of four thousand dollars?’

‘Sir, I don’t know why you, ah ... why I’m, ah ... here.’ Davie’s veneer cracked like the shell of an egg.

‘Then I shall tell you. I have a proposition for you. If you do exactly as I ask of you then I will arrange to have not only your gambling debt erased, but I will actively seek to amend the damage caused by your little indiscretion with Miss Napier. Have we an accord?’

‘I, ah … I mean, it depends on what you…’

‘Please Mr. Kendall - David - you are hardly in a position to question me or to debate the finer details. Either you undertake the task I have in mind for you, or you do not. I can assure you, however, that this thing is of no great matter, legal and well within your scope. I would even hazard to suggest that you might enjoy it. Answer please.’

‘All right, I’m in,’ Davie replied, more terrified than ever.

‘Good.’ The smile again, only this time it was more triumphant than condescending. He had hold of his prey and was about to squeeze. ‘I believe you are acquainted with a young woman by the name of Sarah Winthrope Churchill. Is that correct?’

‘Sarah? Yeah, I know her. She’s in some of my classes but I mean, well, Sarah is … well, she’s not the type of girl you might be looking for Mr. Capritzo, sir.’

‘Indeed? Perhaps you are correct. The interest, however, is on the part of a client of mine. I personally have no knowledge of the young lady nor have I seen her, but my client has and was, it would seem, quite taken by her. He has expressed a desire to meet with her formally, to talk, dance perhaps, but as is so often the case, he is somewhat reticent, fearful perhaps of rejection. Tell me Mr. Kendall, is Miss Churchill a virgin?’

Davie felt his bowels do a back flip. ‘Yeah, she’s a virgin all right. Look Mr. Capritzo, I think you’d better tell your client straight out that Sarah is, well … not typical.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘She doesn’t date. All she’s interested in is getting high grades. Some of the guys think she’s a lesbo.’

‘A what?’

‘A lesbian - you know. Twice I’ve asked her out, but no go. I’ve dated her roommates and they say she’s straight but just doesn’t like guys or guys her age; I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘Hey, I give your client credit for having good taste because she’s one great looking girl and smart too, real smart but well ... frankly I think he’d be wasting his time.’

‘Surely that is for my client to decide, Mr. Kendall, not you. Now, this is what I want you to do. You are aware, of course, that there is to be a masquerade ball at the Fenshaw on New Year’s Eve?’

Davie nodded, biting at his lower lip.

‘I have acquired two invitations; one for you and one for Miss Churchill. Costumes will arrive at your apartment at noon on the day of the event. You will escort her to the ball. What may or may not happen then is a matter best left to my client and, of course, Miss Churchill.’

‘What if she refuses to go with me?’

‘That I doubt. The ball is an exclusive event and besides, with your considerable charm I am sure you will prevail upon her. However, might I suggest that in your dealings with Miss Churchill you abandon the tee-shirt, tight jeans and cool man approach for something more sophisticated.’

‘That’s it? That’s all I have to do?’

‘Just so.’

Davie’s face clouded. ‘Starky wants his money right away.’

‘And he shall have it. Your debt will then transfer to me. If all goes according to plan, you will start the New Year free of all encumbrances. Does such a proposition not interest you?’

Now it was Davie’s turn to smile. ‘Mr. Capritzo sir, I … I don’t know what to say but well thanks and, well I want you to know that I won’t let you down.’ Impulsively he extended his hand as he rose.

The gesture was pointedly ignored.

‘Sit down, Mr. Kendall,’ Capritzo growled. ‘There is one thing more.’ He settled back deep within the soft leather chair and regarded Davie fixedly while at the same time turning a pearl inlaid letter opener between long, slender fingers adorned with several jewel-encrusted rings. ‘I feel compelled to warn you. Should my client, during the natural course of events, discover that Miss Churchill is not a virgin as you have confirmed, then I will kill you myself. Is that understood?’

‘Yes sir,’ Davie was just able to gasp before pure unadulterated terror constricted his windpipe, making it difficult for him to breathe, let alone speak.

‘Good day, Mr. Kendall.’

*****

Capritzo leaned forward and pressed a small button set into the surface of the desk then turned as his personal bodyguard entered through a side door cleverly disguised amid the rank of mirrors. ‘Well Maharsh, what do you think?’

‘I think, lord, you should let me kill the little bastard.’

Capritzo regarded him with mild amusement. Well over six feet tall with a muscular body pumped with steroids, Maharsh’s single-minded, almost dog-like loyalty to his master made him marginally more terrifying and most certainly more dangerous than the man he adored.

At one time Maharsh was allowed access to Capritzo’s harem, but after repeated complaints from the girls and finally a suicide, it was necessary to curtail Maharsh’s sexual excesses. Built like a bull, with genitalia to match, Capritzo found him invaluable when it became necessary to persuade reluctant young ladies to recognize the hopelessness of the situation in which they found themselves.

‘Kendall’s fate has already been determined, my friend,’ Capritzo replied with a sigh of regret. Such a waste. ‘You will organize for me two costumes in appropriate sizes.’ Opening the top drawer of his desk he drew out a coloured photograph. ‘This is the young lady in question. A size eight should do.’

‘Of what design, lord?’

‘For Miss Churchill, I think a harem costume would be appropriate; for young Kendall, the gallant but foolish Marc Anthony.’ He smiled thinly, licking his lips repeatedly as he paused, considering. ‘Now, Miss Lambert?’

‘She is here lord awaiting your pleasure.’

‘Bring her in.’ He leaned back again and waited, fingertips against fingertips.

Elizabeth Lambert was still attractive but at twenty-six the need to wear heavier and more elaborate make-up was apparent. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen she had been an active member of Capritzo’s harem but was finally given the push to make room for new - and younger - candidates.

Amongst her many talents was a flair for writing which had culminated in the completion of the first draft of a book based on her experiences. To suggest that such an exposé would not be in Capritzo’s best interests would be understating the issue considerably. When he learned of its existence, both Miss Lambert and her fledgling manuscript were doomed.

‘Lilly,’ he acknowledged with a nod.

‘Sir,’ she dropped a shallow curtsy.

‘Sit.’

She did so quickly. When she looked up, he was staring at her fixedly.

‘I have something special for you to do. There is a young man I wish you to part from his female companion at the New Year’s Eve ball at the Fenshaw. He is quite attractive, I can assure you, and fancies himself totally irresistible to women. He has, however, a particular fondness for redheads. I want you to try this on for me.’ From a side drawer came a magnificent natural hair wig.

‘Now sir?’

‘Now.’

She took the wig, turned it around briefly to determine front from back and then eased it on overtop of her short blond hair. The effect was electrifying.

‘My Mum had hair like this,’ she gushed, suddenly nervous as she ran her fingers through the long strands. ‘How do I look?’

‘As I hoped,’ he replied coolly. ‘You will not only deflect this young man’s thoughts away from his companion but you will insist that he leave with you well before the evening’s end. I am confident that you will devise a suitable enticement.’ He smiled thinly as his eyes washed over her. ‘Maharsh will bring you to this function and there provide you with a costume and an invitation card.’

‘Sounds like fun. What sort of costume?’ Her confidence began to soar.

‘A harem costume.’

‘Great! You’ll be pleased to know I’ve kept my figure just like it was when…’

She was interrupted by a sharp clinking sound followed by a soft hum as the door to Capritzo’s private chambers opened automatically.

‘Then surely I am the best judge of the truth of such a statement.’ His eyes bored deep within her. ‘Wash thoroughly and remove all trace of make-up.’

She nodded abstractly as she rose from the chair and began to make her way across the room on legs suddenly grown weak at the knees. She had reached the doorway before he called out to her.

‘Lilly.’ She turned, leaning lightly on the doorframe for support. ‘Continue to wear the wig.’

‘Yes sir,’ she replied in a hoarse whisper.

2

Davie whistled snatches of Al Jolson’s song I’m Sitting On Top of the World as he cleaned and polished his car. It was December 31st and in a few short hours he’d be picking up - no, collecting - Miss Churchill and taking her, like the prince he was, to a fancy-dress ball. Chances are she’ll reject this jerk, whoever he is, and then she’ll fly to Davie’s side, seeking his protection and begging to leave on his arm.

Davie chuckled. If he played his cards right and Janet came through as promised, Little Miss Tightass might just find herself at a different kind of ball.

‘I’m sittin’ on top of the world, just ballin’ along, just singin’ this song.’ He smiled wickedly as he stood back to admire his handiwork although he knew that no amount of elbow grease would ever make “Old Sally” young again. Sally was Davie’s nickname for his car; short for “Sally the Shit Box”; rude perhaps, but accurate. As he slid behind the wheel his eyes traced every inch of the interior which had been laboriously cleaned of every manner of filth, then polished.

‘Sally baby, you smell like a silicon whore on a Saturday night.’

Persuading Sarah to accompany him had been a piece of cake. Perhaps that prick Capritzo had been right because her attitude did change remarkably when Davie arrived at the house on Bacon Street dressed in grey flannel pants, pale blue shirt, tie and - hey baby! - a blazer. The bouquet of flowers helped too but it was the invitation card with her name printed in copperplate which really sent her over the edge.

Davie had played the perfect gentleman throughout the evening; all charm and cool sophistication until Sarah finally relented.

Typically, David assumed almost without thinking that he had worked his magic yet again, enticing the fair young Sarah even against her will. Such charm in one so young - such arrogance! Davie’s ego would have taken a knock if he knew the truth, however, and that was quite simple.

Sarah’s roommates were no longer prepared to indulge her prudish tendencies. The only reason why she had been invited to share such cheap - inexpensive, please - accommodation so close to campus was because Heather and Janet saw Sarah as a first-class ticket to the Good-times Gallery. Certain that she would draw the guys like flies, they were soon to learn that she was pure poison, so a campaign was launched to basically separate Sarah from her virginity, and as soon as possible. Ultimately Sarah was faced with a choice. Either date Davie or find accommodation elsewhere; a formidable challenge for a young girl with limited financial resources. There was one slight consolation, however. Sarah was assured that Davie was an experienced lover so, if you have to go, well …

Sarah had smiled sweetly when Heather nudged her knowingly. What she didn’t know was that Sarah was quite prepared to see just how good a lover Davie might be moments after being kicked in the nuts.

New Year’s Eve was shaping up to be a very interesting evening all around.

*****

The only problem facing Davie now was the truth about Sarah’s sexual history, or more specifically, the lack of one. Davie had worked hard, fearful always that she may now have, or had had an affair off campus and thus beyond the knowledge of those individuals who took a particular delight and an inordinate interest in other people’s affairs - sexual and otherwise. No luck. Finally Davie gave up, running on intuition instead. Besides, he reasoned, knowing Sarah, by the time she gave over he’d be an old man! Davie chuckled again, relishing his little joke.

He couldn’t wait to get into his costume. Marc Anthony, now someone was thinking right! Perfect fit too and a masterpiece of authenticity, right down to the sword.

Sarah’s costume included yards and yards of semi-transparent veils and not much else. Davie found himself licking his lips in eager anticipation as he fondled the material, until he caught himself and stopped abruptly.

By the time he reached her place he could barely contain his excitement. Sarah pointedly ignored the ohs and ahs of her roommates as they admired Davie, the Marc Anthony of all their dreams.

‘Hello Sarah. I'm sure this will fit. Well, ah … I hope it does.’ He handed her a rectangular cardboard box.

She lifted the lid then stared down at the costume in disbelief. ‘Is this it?’

‘Yeah well ah … sorry, but the selection was kind of limited.’

Sarah’s roommate Heather cut in. ‘I think it’s great. Come on Sarah, try it on.’

Sarah turned to her, her green eyes flashing. She grabbed the costume out of the box and threw it at her. ‘If you think it’s so great, then you try it on!’

Sarah’s other roommate Janet stepped in hoping to save the day; or rather the night. ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake Sarah, I've seen worse on the beach. Come on, hurry up. Heather, go and help her.’

Sarah snatched the costume back then turned to Davie, offering him a wicked smile. ‘No guarantees Mister Kendall,’ she said as she stormed out of the room with Heather following right behind.

‘Sit down Marc,’ Janet sighed, ‘this could take awhile.’

The living room was a mess. On the floor were empty soda bottles, beer cans, assorted wrappers, newspapers and magazines; all conspiring together to create a scene that could best be described as static chaos. An ashtray filled to the brim with cigarette butts clung to the edge of a dilapidated wooden coffee table covered with scars and burdened down with its own field of trash. The sofa smelt vaguely of stale beer and marijuana. Before he could sit down, Davie had to move two battered and stained throw pillows out of the way. Janet was just in time to gather up a crochet blanket. She sat perched on the arm of the sofa, clutching the blanket and watching, mildly amused, as Davie adjusts his metal tunic before easing himself down onto the tattered sofa.

Janet was grossly overweight. As she perched on the edge of the sofa her “love handles” blossomed despite every effort by her tee-shirt to hide them. She was not a pretty picture either in a pair of jeans that strained at the seams.

Davie looked up. ‘Is everything set for tonight?’

‘Yep, you just get her back here. Heather's going off somewhere with Jess so we won't see her until Wednesday. Ted will be here by ten, just in case you need help with her.’ She chuckled. ‘He said he’d bring some stuff to spike her drink with, if it comes to it.’

‘Some friend you are.’

‘You still want her, don’t you? Besides, you’re not the one who has to live with her … tight-ass bitch. The only reason why Heather and I took her in in the first place was because we thought, with her looks, it would be wall to wall guys around here but instead we've got Miss Ice Palace; “touch me and I'll scream”. Shit!’

‘Maybe she's got someone special who …’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake Davie, I've told you a hundred times, there’s no one. We figure she's holding on to it for some super rich sugar daddy with a heart condition or somethin’. Well, I'm fed up with it and so is Heather, so either she puts out or she gets out, and you’re just the guy to do it.’

Davie looked away, quietly disconcerted.

‘Just pull her down Davie, just like we planned. By this time tomorrow, she'll realize that she’s no better than the rest of us, and she never was.’

*****

Sarah twisted and turned in front of the small mirror in her room. Once into the costume with the veils layered, it wasn’t so bad. Heather was able to talk her into going at least as far as the living room.

Davie had steeled himself, knowing in advance that if he let go with even one hubba-hubba-type remark, the evening would end before it got going and he’d find himself back in Shit Creek, only this time with a bullet through his brain.

When Sarah emerged, he smiled pleasantly, complimented her politely and escorted her out the door, thankful that Marc’s metal tunic hid what he found impossible to control. She looked magnificent. Suddenly it hit him that maybe; just maybe, he might lose her tonight to … as the tips of her fingers slipped from his and she settled into the car. She turned and smiled up at him, sending his heart flying.

Davie hesitated for a moment, suddenly unsure if any of this was a good idea, but damn it man; he didn’t have any choice. It didn’t occur to him then that Sarah had not been given even that.

*****

What an event! When Davie found out that the tickets cost a hundred bucks each, he just about flipped. ‘Proceeds to Charity - yeah like the Pre-med Student Benevolent Fund’, he chuckled. Too bad, he thought, that most of the guests were old enough to be his parents if not grandparents but thank God at least some of the old hags were wearing masks. It was all enough to give a young boy of such a delicate frame of mind, nightmares.

Davie was about to ask Sarah to dance again when Capritzo appeared. He was dressed as Lucifer, which as far as Davie was concerned, seemed entirely appropriate. He smiled thinly at Davie then turned his full attention on Sarah but Davie intervened, quickly taking her right hand, swinging her around and into his arms before whispering something that made her laugh. Capritzo moved away, visibly annoyed.

Unseen by Davie, Capritzo looked upward to the mezzanine floor and nodded. From the darkness issued two masked “demons” who hurried to their prearranged positions. Within minutes the trap was set and needed but the arrival of its intended victim.

‘Sorry Miss, room closed, room closed.’ The attendant waved Sarah away with his mop. She backed up as water continued to spill out from the ladies washroom, fanning out across the polished floor. ‘Another there,’ he pointed further along the corridor. Sarah hesitated only briefly, perhaps because by now her back teeth were beginning to float as her father used to say. Quickly she moved on.

The handicap facility was large and at that particular moment, empty. Music, piped in from the ballroom set her humming as she fumbled with the layers of veil, wondering idly how women managed in previous centuries with hoop skirts, corsets and, she thought derisively, chastity belts.

Her eyes casually traced the pattern of tiles, interrupted at one point by a large aluminum plate which, no doubt, allowed access to the plumbing and heaven only knows what else behind the scenes.

Suddenly she frowned as her mind caught on Davie. He had been extremely attentive all evening but then again he would be, wouldn’t he? Several times he had told her how beautiful she was. Soon, Sarah knew, he would speak of love. Love. Yes, she had seen that particular brand of love before, employed with a remarkable degree of success on girlfriends in high school. A love that quickly transforms into tears once the guy’s got what he wanted. He’d move on, leaving the girl sitting by a telephone that doesn’t ring then sitting in a doctor’s office as overdue as a library book. Guess who paid the fine?

‘Not for me, thanks,’ she mused as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a vague sense of being watched. She backed away, eager to return to the ballroom but when she tried the outer door, it was stuck - or locked. Panic took hold of her as she twisted the handle, using both hands in an attempt to force it. She was about to pound on the door, but froze instead. As if in a dream the words came.

‘Most beauteous lady.’

The scream which rose in her throat died as Maharsh covered her mouth with one hand while pulling her to him with the other. A fraction of a second later she felt the bite of a hypodermic needle, then nothing as she fell unconscious into his arms.

‘Ah,’ he sighed as he gazed down at her. Gently he caressed her face, her neck, running his right hand down and across her breasts.

‘He waits,’ his companion growled.

Maharsh nodded. Gently he lifted her into his arms then turned, moving silently back and through the open maintenance panel from whence he had come. He paused only briefly to make certain that the opening was resealed by his companion before hurrying through the service tunnel to Capritzo’s waiting limousine.

*****

Davie wasn’t difficult to find. Liz knew her Marc Anthonys and this was one version she was definitely going to enjoy being with. Nice change, she thought, from the middle aged, overweight cretins she was usually required to entertain.

‘Hi, I’m Liz.’ She smiled seductively. ‘If you’re looking for your friend, she’s talking to someone. She seems to be having a good time too, so how about we do the same?’

Davie blinked then blinked again. Her name was Liz but the hair, the costume …

‘Yeah, real coincidence isn’t it? Well heck, if you’ve got the body, why not? Here, finish my drink; I’ve had enough. Then we can dance. I bet you’re a real smooth dancer.’

Within minutes Davie wasn’t sure of anything any more. The room seemed to revolve around him, the figures in it nothing more than a series of blurred images, colour upon colour whirring inward then, as if in fright, bursting away, trailing miniature rainbows.

Then sheer blackness intruded as he found himself standing within inches of Capritzo.

‘You have done well, my young friend. My client is more than pleased and so, it would seem, is Miss Churchill. In fact, they have left together.’ He smiled wickedly then turned to Liz. ‘Perhaps Miss Lambert, you could take Mr. Kendall to Crosby House and there teach him of those things which a young man of such tender years only dreams of knowing.’

‘She’s all right, isn’t …’ Davie swallowed hard, ‘isn’t she?’

‘Of course, now go and enjoy the balance of the evening. Miss Lambert?’

Liz took hold of Davie’s arm and propelled him towards the exit, weaving at the end between knots of guests engaged in polite conversation. Then they were gone, lost to sight as the knots drew tight, blocking the passage.

‘Farewell, David Kendall and alas, my beloved, treacherous Lilly,’ he whispered softly, a trace of regret in his voice as he turned away to address his companion, Reza. ‘Everything is prepared as I have ordered?’

‘Yes lord. The explosion and fire, which will follow hard upon the accident, will destroy all trace except those small ones that you would have Samile carefully place. He is a master at this doing, so know it will be just as you have ordered. From the ashes will come this beauteous young girl rising like a phoenix.’

Capritzo sighed. ‘It is a pity, is it not, that her fate should rest in the hands of a man such as Richard Develin?’

‘Yes, lord.’

3

‘Mr. Develin, he is on line one Mr. Capritzo,’ the secretary announced via the intercom.

Capritzo leaned forward, pressed the appropriate button then the speakerphone. ‘Mr. Develin, how good to hear from you. You are well I trust?’

‘Less than well if the reports from my representative are accurate.’

‘As I understand it, he was more than pleased with the item. Is there a problem I am unaware of?’

‘I specifically requested that the shipment be held by you until all the test results are in hand. Now I find that you are unprepared to do this and have actively encouraged Doctor Smith to accept delivery immediately on my behalf.’

‘Mr. Develin - Richard - the item you have ordered is, how shall I say, volatile and will not long survive extended storage. Doctor Smith is aware of this first hand. I have kept my side of the bargain to the letter but I cannot be held responsible should the item begin to deteriorate. As I understand it, these tests may take as long as a week to complete. Under normal circumstances this would not present a problem but alas in this particular instance we are dealing with an unusual case. Since I am prevented by you from using chemical means to control the situation, I must re-evaluate. Therefore, I have no recourse but to assure you that, should the results of your tests prove unsatisfactory, I am prepared to take the item back for a full refund, assuming of course that it remains intact. Do we have an accord?’

There was a slight pause. ‘All right, Capritzo. My private jet will arrive tonight at twenty-two hundred hours. I want the item, as you euphemistically refer, ready for transport under the direction of Doctor Smith. Have him call me within the hour. As far as a refund is concerned, may I remind you yet again that what I have, I keep. If the tests prove unsatisfactory then I shall have to be content with amusing myself for a time before making alternative arrangements.’

‘But Richard please, the item is of the highest quality. It would grieve me to think …’

A high-pitched humming sound signaled the end of the call. ‘Bastard: High born, murderous bastard!’ Capritzo’s anger rose in a series of increments. ‘Maharsh!’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘What are these tests?’ He spat the last word out as he swiveled free of his chair.

Maharsh shook his head. ‘This doctor who calls himself Smith, he takes blood. That is all I know. Perhaps he may be persuaded into satisfying your knowing, lord. He is even now coming to confer with you. I too would grieve for the loss of this pretty thing. She has skin like new milk, soft to touch and without blemish. The hair shines like a bronzed sun, soft like silk beneath a hand eager to caress it. Eyes green as an oasis has she. In her anger she grows more beautiful, more desirable. I fear he will kill her because he knows not how to tame her, for surely she will wreak vengeance at the first opportunity.’

‘I hope she kicks him in the balls,’ Capritzo growled just as his secretary announced Doctor Smith’s arrival. He turned to Maharsh. ‘I may have more success with our young doctor if you are not here. Watch instead from beyond the glass.’

Silently Maharsh slipped from the room.

‘Welcome, my friend.’ Capritzo uncharacteristically extended his hand to greet the new arrival.

Young - perhaps thirty, Capritzo guessed - slender, well dressed, handsome in a lopsided sort of way but there was a furtive quality to him which suggested a secret safeguarded, carefully protected at all cost. Whatever that secret was, Capritzo felt sure that it was known to Develin who ensured absolute loyalty from his staff; one way or another.

Momentarily taken back by Capritzo’s appearance, Smith - his real name was Laird; Develin had insisted on an alias - quickly recovered, smiled pleasantly then shifted his notes to his left arm in order to shake Capritzo’s hand.

Formalities completed, Capritzo turned to address his secretary. ‘Jasmine, when the evening paper arrives bring it straight in to me.’

She nodded then withdrew, closing the door silently behind her.

‘Doctor Smith, I have just completed a telephone conversation with Mr. Develin. He is sending a jet to collect both you and the young lady. He has expressed the wish to confer with you immediately, so please, there is a unit in the corner if that will do.’

Laird hurried to the telephone which sat atop a white marble pedestal. A pale pink leather chair cushioned him as he proceeded to punch in the numbers for Develin’s private phone. It was answered immediately.

‘Develin.’

‘You wished to speak with me, sir?’

‘Where are you?’

‘In Mr. Capritzo’s office. There’s a corner phone, but it’s ...’

‘Just tell me, are you satisfied with what you have seen?’

‘Very much so, yes sir,’ he shot back in military style.

‘Good. Jamie will be waiting for you at the airport at ten p.m. Bring all the documentation you have received from White. I will see you tomorrow, at which time we will discuss details.’ Just as Laird thought the conversation had ended, Develin added. ‘Stay away from Capritzo. Just get her out of there, Laird - now!’

Slowly Laird replaced the receiver then turned to find Capritzo standing less than six feet away.

‘Everything is well, I trust?’

‘Yes, absolutely; everything’s just fine.’ Laird consulted his watch. ‘The plane will be here at ten. It’s nearly six now so I, ah…’

‘Then I shall give you this now.’ Capritzo offered Laird a sealed envelope. ‘It is from my personal physician. For Mr. Develin’s eyes only, you understand; a mere formality, of course, since he has been advised verbally.’

Laird frowned.

‘Do not concern yourself, doctor. This matter is not, I believe, within your province, so ...’ Capritzo shrugged. ‘It merely confirms the young lady’s acceptability in the first instance, shall we say. Your tests would hardly have been necessary otherwise.’

‘I’m sorry, I ... I don’t understand.’

‘It is quite simple, my friend. Mr. Develin requested a virgin and so she is.’ Slowly Capritzo turned away, silently relishing the shocked look on Laird’s face. ‘Ah, the evening paper has arrived. Thank you, my dear.’

Capritzo sighed as he scanned the front page. ‘Really, I wonder sometimes why I bother; so much violence, so much death. Take this article for example.’

He handed the paper to Laird then pointed to a small paragraph near the bottom.

TEENS IDENTIFIED

Two university students who died in a horrific freak accident on Highway 5 on New Year’s Eve have been tentatively identified as Sarah Winthrope Churchill and David Michael Kendall, both second-year pre-med students. The cause of the tragedy is unspecified but it is believed that defective brakes were a contributing factor. The ensuing blaze took firemen some time to quell. Police have expressed concern in the past that this section of Highway 5 is…

‘My God!’ Laird choked.

‘Tell me, how long have you been in Mr. Develin’s employ, Doctor Smith?’

‘Ah … three months sir,’ Laird stammered.

‘Indeed. I, on the other hand, have known your employer for many years.’ Capritzo eased closer. ‘I am curious. During the course of our association, he has never once expressed a desire for a girl such as this one.’ He smiled almost shyly. ‘Mr. Develin prefers mature women who are, how shall I phrase it - sexually enlightened? I speak of courtesans, Doctor Smith - well trained and discreet. It is rumored that he is not well so perhaps she is destined for another - a gift perhaps?’

‘I’m sorry but I’m not at liberty to discuss Mr. Develin’s personal life sir. I, ah … you will excuse me please, I’ve got things to do and Miss Churchill …’

‘… represents a considerable challenge even for a man as young and vigorous as yourself, Doctor Smith. Such a radical departure from the norm begs the question why, especially since I have reason to believe that Mr. Develin is quite unwell.’

‘To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Capritzo, Mr. Develin is in excellent health.’ Laird began to back away, suddenly fearful.

‘Excellent news! I can assume then that this girl is for his pleasure only, nothing more. Yet again, I must wonder. Tell me, Doctor Smith, what is your area of expertise?’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that question.’

‘Yes, of course. But please, one thing more before you go. I am sure you will agree that Miss Churchill is a remarkable young woman - extraordinary perhaps. Should it happen that she does not meet with Mr. Develin’s approval, I would be most interested in having her returned to me, provided, of course, that she is in, shall we say, reasonable condition. I might add, and this is strictly confidential, there is a possibility of an opening either here or in the U.K. for a bright young doctor of ambition who knows an opportunity when it presents itself. Think on it, my young friend and have a good flight.’

4

Sarah woke to a world of discomfort. She felt sick to her stomach, disoriented and weak. The persistent droning sound in the background only succeeded in aggravating the headache that pounded just behind her eyes. When she tried to move she realized that her left wrist was handcuffed to something solid while across her thighs and chest were wide unyielding bands that kept her held fast to whatever it was she was lying on. As her vision cleared she found herself staring straight up at the ceiling of an airplane. Jet engines, working in unison, throbbed rhythmically just beyond the window to her right.

‘Good, you’re awake.’ Doctor Laird smiled pleasantly down at her. ‘No doubt you are thirsty. I’ll get you a drink of water.’

Sarah’s green eyes regarded him with pure, unadulterated hated. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded in a voice sharp with fear.

‘My name is Peter Laird - Doctor Peter Laird. In a sense, I’m your personal physician.’

‘Personal physician!’ Sarah huffed. ‘In that case, consider yourself fired - in a sense.’

‘Very droll, Miss Churchill. Come, I’ll adjust the seat so that you may sit up in comfort just as soon as I remove these restraints. I would recommend that you stay safely buckled in however, in case of turbulence. There, that’s better.’ He smiled thinly while avoiding her steady gaze. ‘If I’m not mistaken you are marginally dehydrated so may I recommend two or perhaps three glasses of water or, if you prefer, I believe there’s lemonade or ginger ale?’

‘Do you do this often?’ Sarah asked, her jaw clenched tight with rage.

‘Do what?’ Laird seemed perplexed by the question.

‘Play steward to your abductees.’

‘Abductee? I’m sorry, I ...’ He swallowed hard then cleared his throat. ‘My employer has merely asked me to ensure your good health, provide you with company if you so desire and see you safely into his charge. I fully appreciate your feelings in this difficult …’

‘Do you?’ she screamed. ‘I doubt that very much, Doctor Laird. Look you bastard, I’ve been abducted - kidnapped, goddamn it. I’ve been drugged, forcibly confined, manhandled by a great brute of a SOB and you stand there and politely speak to me of how you appreciate my situation? Are you completely nuts?’

‘Please, drink this.’

‘I’ll take nothing from you. Get away from me!’

‘Miss Churchill, we have several more hours of flying time, so I…’

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you that your determination to resist, although commendable, is both foolhardy and perhaps dangerous. My employer is not the type of man to…’

‘Your employer, has he a name Laird?’

‘Richard Mayfair Develin.’

‘And it was he who orchestrated all of this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Mr. Develin was quite taken by you, apparently, during a visit to your city. The encounter was brief, you would not remember, but ever since you have been much on his mind. He merely wishes to meet with you formally and if by chance …’

‘Just a minute; if this bastard wanted to meet me, why didn’t he just give me a call? Oh no, Laird, we’re not talking about a casual date here and you’d be smoking funny cigarettes if you damn well believe that. No one dishes out this kind of money to spend a few hours chatting with a girl unless …’ Sarah’s eyes grew wide with fear. ‘What did you mean when you said that he was not the type of man? Just exactly what are we dealing with here?’

‘It’s not my place to say. Mr. Develin is, ah … well, you’ll have an opportunity to meet him soon enough.’

‘I see,’ she choked, holding back the tears. ‘I … I think I’d like that glass of water now.’

‘Yes, of course.’

*****

Sarah leaned her head against the side of the aircraft then pulled her legs up under her, trying to find a comfortable position while a million and one thoughts raced through her mind, each combining into the other, building into a crescendo of apprehension. Not the type of man … Not the type of man …

Several times Laird tried to engage her in conversation but she refused, turning inward, encapsulating herself against the worst possible nightmare. She remembered back to just after her capture; her heart constricting as the memory descended, unbidden and unwanted but pushing through nevertheless.

*****

January 1^st, 1980

The Brownstone, Boston, Massachusetts

Even before she was fully conscious Sarah vomited, staining the fine muslin shift she was wearing, and her hair. She gasped for air, blindly clutching at a woollen blanket as reality began to close in, suffocating her with its knowledge, deadening her responses; leaving her mentally vulnerable in a world she would refuse to accept, let alone understand. She knew almost instinctively what had happened and she wanted to cry but no tears would come, only anger and the more she thought about it the angrier she became until finally she leapt from the bed to confront her immediate surroundings in the first instance, and then the situation.

The cubical she found herself in, for it was too small to be called a room, contained nothing more than a bed and a metal side-table. Fastened to the wall was a mirror that reflected back nothing, as yet, but the stark white wall opposite. Through the half-opened door came the sound of a flute interspersed with high-pitched laughter and the voices of women.

Slowly, hesitantly she opened the door only to be confronted by a swimming pool ringed with potted plants enjoying the humidity and the winter sunlight that filtered through a magnificent glass dome high above. By the side of the pool sat a young black girl, her long hair braided with brightly coloured ribbons that hung down the middle of her back, providing her with the only costume she wore. She smiled up at Sarah, revealing perfectly formed, even white teeth.

‘Good, you are awake.’ Sarah turned abruptly. A young girl, not much older than herself moved cautiously forward, the silk brocade caftan she wore barely stirring as she walked. ‘Welcome. My name is Helena and this is Pearl.’ She turned slightly to indicate the black girl. ‘You have soiled your gown, and your hair.’ She reached out but Sarah had already begun to back away. ‘Relax, mon cher,’ she purred, revealing more of a French accent, ‘you are safe and amongst friends.’ She smiled as she tilted her head to one side. ‘You are most beautiful. Come, I will help you to refresh yourself then perhaps a swim and something to eat.’ She moved closer.

‘Get away from me,’ Sarah growled.

Helena stopped abruptly before allowing her eyes to drift to the far end of the pool. ‘See,’ she nodded towards two heavyset men, dressed in long black robes. ‘If you do not behave they will come; then you will do what is asked of you.’

‘Eunuchs I presume,’ Sarah huffed. ‘This is too much. Look Helena, I have absolutely no intention of playing your little game or anyone else’s. Now, I suggest you go and tell whoever it is who runs this goddamn zoo that I’m not interested in joining the swim team or whatever euphemistic term is currently in vogue for harem. Got that?’

Helena stared at her in disbelief, her dark brown eyes unwavering. ‘You are brave, yes; but, how brave?’ She turned towards the two men, raised her right hand and snapping her fingers. They immediately began to move forward, rounding the pool side by side.

Sarah watched their progress, waiting. They were approximately ten feet from her when she moved, grabbing Helena around the neck from behind while twisting the girl’s left arm painfully upwards behind her back. When Helena struggled, Sarah applied more pressure. A single scream echoed through the room, galvanising the two eunuchs into action. Positioning herself perfectly for the onslaught, Sarah gathered all her strength then pushed Helena forward hard, sending both her and the eunuchs into the pool.

Sarah bolted for the room next door, hoping to find an exit but her heart sank as she raced into a veritable labyrinth. Surrounded by a dozen startled women in varying degrees of undress, she was forced to twist and turn between more potted plants, sofas and mounds of brightly coloured pillows. She tipped over a large bowl of walnuts sending them cascading across the Persian carpets before encountering a tray overflowing with fresh fruit. Pausing only long enough to scoop up a small pearl-handled paring knife, she sent the fruit flying, pelting those close by with oranges, pears and bunches of grapes.

She dashed for the door at the far side. It was locked. Slowly she turned, pressing herself hard up against it, the knife clutched tightly in her right hand. The women stared at her, horrified.

‘I want out of here and I want out of here now!’ she demanded, breathing hard.

Slowly the women parted and Sarah came face to face with the spectre of Maharsh. She swallowed hard as his eyes washed over her while all the while smiling in a manner which could best be described as appreciative. She knew without a shadow of doubt that this monster was most definitely not a eunuch.

‘I see,’ she gasped, ‘so, we’ve moved from a Thousand and One Nights to King Kong, have we?’

‘Such a pretty knife in such a pretty hand; what do you do with it?’

‘Right now, making a point is about all I can hope for.’

‘If you think to terrify, this is what you need.’ He offered for her inspection a stainless steel blade at least eight inches long.

‘Very nice,’ she managed, ‘Jim Bowie would be proud of you.’

‘You have caused much distress but no more, I think.’ He moved fast, grabbing her by the wrist, twisting it just enough so that she dropped the knife. With a grunt of satisfaction, he brought his blade to within a hair’s breadth of her neck. ‘You will do now what is asked of you yes, or I will cut you. From this will come much pain and much blood.’

Sarah nodded, swallowing hard.

‘Good,’ he growled as he stepped back from her. ‘Return now, back the way you have come.’

Helena stood rigid with rage; the centre point of a vast pool of water that radiated outwards across the tiled floor. Fists clenched, her costume, makeup and elaborate hairstyle now in ruins, she watched tight-lipped as Sarah casually strolled back into the room with Maharsh right behind her.

‘English bitch!’ Helena screamed.

.

‘I’d rather be an English bitch than a French whore.’

Helena lunged for Sarah’s throat but Maharsh stepped in between them. With a growl he tossed Helena to one side, sending her sprawling across the wet floor. Sarah’s smile of triumph lasted but a moment as the two eunuchs quickly moved in.

Capritzo had watched the whole performance from the concealed balcony above. He leaned away from the latticework screen then turned to address his head eunuch. ‘Take her and lock her away from all and especially Maharsh. Have him come to me, in my office … now.’

‘Yes lord.’

As the eunuch was about to leave, Capritzo added, ‘I want her guarded both day and night.’

‘Yes lord.’

Capritzo frowned. ‘What game is it you play, Richard?’ He turned back towards the screen.

Sarah caught only the essence of movement from above but it was sufficient for her to concentrate her attention, seeking to find what was behind the latticework. When the eunuchs sought to take control of her, she wrenched herself free. Helena watched in horror as Sarah moved closer, not taking her eyes off one section of the balcony where she felt sure someone stood, watching. Her eyes, cat like roamed the intricate diamond-shaped pattern until she found what she was seeking. ‘You bastard,’ she whispered, ‘I’ll get you for this.’

Only time would prove how prophetic these words would be.

*****

When the plane landed, Laird smiled across at her. ‘Almost there.’

‘Is that suppose to make me feel better?’ she growled.

Laird flushed. ‘At the back of the plane you will find Mr. Develin’s personal cabin. You’re free to make use of the facilities there. I ah … I believe there is a dress and other items which you’re welcome to change into; toiletries of course and, well, whatever you require.’ He cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed. ‘We’ll be on the ground for about forty minutes so you have time, I think, to …’

Laird paused as the cockpit door opened.

Sarah’s first impression was of an undertaker — black suit, parchment-colored skin drawn tight across a skeletal frame, languid blue eyes. The new arrival gazed down at her with all the enthusiasm of the clinically dead. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

‘Who I am is of no consequence to you, Miss Churchill. I am here, like Doctor Laird, to ensure your safe arrival.’ Extracting a tiny key from the pocket of his suit, he quickly unlocked the handcuff. ‘Follow me, please.’ He headed towards the back of the plane, threw open a narrow door then paused, waiting. ‘You have thirty minutes,’ he intoned as Sarah stepped across the threshold into a sumptuous boudoir.

‘Oh, my God,’ she gasped as she looked around her. The door closed behind her with a metallic click, that suggested … When she tried it, it was locked.

She turned, taking in the room in a matter of seconds. Across the expanse of the double bed was spread a pale green silk shirtwaister dress, matching camisole, black silk underwear, stockings, black leather pumps and a hairbrush.

When she went into the bathroom, she found a variety of shampoos and hair conditioners, toothpaste, everything she would need with the exception of make-up. No lipstick, no blush, only foundation creams - all of them expensive.

In the wardrobe she found suits - his, she assumed. Expensive, finely cut worsteds in shades of dark blue and grey, and in the drawers, tailored shirts, heavily starched. In a lacquered box were cuff links and tie tacks, many containing semiprecious stones - others inlaid with gold.

She ran her fingers across the shoulder of one of the suits, marveling at the softness of the material. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered aloud, ‘and, more to the point, what are you?’

Her throat constricted in fear and perhaps something worse - something primeval.

5

Thursday, January 3rd, 1980

Cavendish Hall, Southern Ireland

The Gulfstream jet taxied across the tarmac then came to an abrupt halt twenty feet from a black, Series 3 XJ12 Jaguar sedan.

Set roughly in the middle of the Develin estate, the private landing strip also contained a helicopter pad and a hangar in which was housed a vintage biplane, meticulously maintained and kept ready should Mr. Develin wish at any time to take it up himself.

The window shade beside Sarah had been drawn, so she had no impression of where she was - nor would she.

‘Miss Churchill, I’m sorry, but I, ah … for security reasons I must ask you please to…’ Laird felt his throat constrict as he held up a black silk hood. ‘Just until we reach the house, you understand.’

Blinded, Sarah was carefully led from her seat but it soon became apparent that she was too weak and traumatized to continue so Laird took her into his arms and carried her to the waiting car.

He acknowledged Develin’s personal chauffeur, John, with a nod as he opened the door to the back seat. As he eased Sarah inside Laird realized that she was crying softly, the sound muffled. ‘Sarah, please don’t cry,’ he whispered. His heart ached for her - so young, so vulnerable.

‘Damn you, Develin, damn you to hell.’

‘Good flight, Doctor Laird?’ John asked as he watched Laird closely, looking for anything untoward that he might report to his boss.

‘Yes, thanks John. Everything went well.’ Laird’s voice was hushed, his emotions barely in check.

‘Mr. Develin is waiting back at the house. He does not expect to view the young lady until this evening of course, but he wants to see you at the earliest opportunity.’

Laird nodded. He turned and walked around the back of the car and got in beside Sarah. She sat still as a statue throughout the fifteen minutes ride to the massive granite and brick edifice known as Cavendish Hall.

As the car came to a stop at the front porch, Laird turned to Sarah. ‘We’re here, Miss Churchill. I can remove the blindfold now.’ She flinched when he touched her then relaxed slightly as the hood was drawn off. ‘I think it would be best if you made your way unaided. Welcome to Cavendish Hall.’

Slowly, almost fearfully, Sarah turned towards the bleak grey-stoned mansion. Three stories high with jutting wings, the ground floor windows were recessed into the stone behind wrought iron grillwork like prison bars. She shuddered.

‘Be brave,’ Laird whispered with a reassuring smile just as the car door was opened. John reached in to offer her his hand. Sarah swayed slightly at first, but by sheer willpower she forced herself across the chipped stone driveway and up three steps into a stone porch.

The solid wood and iron reinforced front door stood open, the entrance hall empty except for a brightly colored Persian carpet perhaps thirty feet square. To the right rose a pale grey marble staircase that widened then curved to the left as it reached the upper floor. Both the handrails and the balusters were in a deep, rich mahogany, ornately carved. The theme carried upwards, beyond the stairs to grace the length of the central hall, giving the second floor the illusion of a mezzanine. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the plafond ceiling more than fifty feet above, the baroque ornamentation and gold leaf clearly visible even at a distance. Sarah drew back, more terrified now than ever. The house reeked of excess and the abuse of power.

‘Come, Miss Churchill, I will show you to your rooms.’ Laird took her elbow gently. ‘Miss Penjan?’

‘Here, sir.’ From nowhere it seemed appeared a young woman, perhaps twenty-five years of age, dressed in the traditional sari of her native India. She bowed, cupping her hands to her forehead in formal greeting.

‘Miss Churchill, I would like you to meet Seefan Penjan. Miss Penjan will act as your maid and personal companion during your stay here.’

Seefan bowed low, then took Sarah’s right hand and pressed it to her forehead. ‘Most welcome, lady,’ she whispered. She released Sarah’s hand, stepped back and bowed again. ‘Your rooms are ready and waiting for your inspection. You must be tired, yes?’

Sarah nodded weakly.

‘I shall escort her, Doctor Laird. There is no need to trouble yourself. Besides, he knows of your arrival and awaits you, even now, in his office.’

‘Then I shall take my leave, Miss Churchill. Rest please, and again, take some nourishment. It will counteract the effects of the drugs, and the flight.’

Halfway up the marble stairs Sarah paused and looked back. In the process of commencing the ascent was a powerfully built man dressed completely in black. He looked up straight into Sarah’s eyes then smiled, but there was no warmth there. Sarah stumbled then frantically gripped the handrail for support. A fraction of a second later he was at her side.

‘You must take care, Miss Churchill. A fall on these stairs would surely prove fatal. I fear the long flight has fatigued you so I shall assist you, if you will allow me?’ The voice was a smooth as honey.

‘I’m quite all right, thank you,’ Sarah shot back as she eased away from him.

‘As you say,’ he replied with a slight bow of the head, although he stood his ground, refusing to move either one way or the other. ‘Nevertheless, I shall see you to the accommodation set aside for you then I can confidently report to Mr. Develin that you have safely arrived.’ He smiled again. Cold grey eyes, slightly almond shaped, set within the face of a prizefighter. A nose not quite central, thinning hair and hands the size of dinner plates. A waist thickened by age but still trim enough to accent broad shoulders and a barrel chest.

The smile she returned was more like a grimace. ‘You’re name isn’t Igor by any chance, is it?’

He frowned, perplexed by the question. ‘No miss, Carl.’

‘Well Carl, give my compliments to Mr. Develin and tell him for me that he can go straight to hell. Do you think you can remember that?’

He moved so fast that Sarah had no opportunity to defend herself as he took hold of her right arm in a savage grip then proceeded to half drag; half carry her up the remaining steps and along the corridor to the left. Suddenly he stopped before a set of double doors and released her.

‘I suggest, Miss Churchill, that you deliver the message yourself.’

He pushed one of the doors open with the flat of his hand then stepped back as Seefan propelled Sarah quickly inside, closing the door behind her. From his pocket came a ring of keys. He selected one, decorated with a small pink ribbon. He smiled tightly as he heard the deadbolt slide across, click then lock into place, sealing shut with a bar of pure steel the only external access to the rooms beyond.

He stood for a moment turning the key around and around between his fingers. And if you are not the one, my dear Miss Churchill, perhaps he will allow me a few hours of your time before he disposes of you.

*****

‘Oh Miss Sarah, this Mr. Carl, he is Mr. Develin’s bodyguard. Very close to him, very close.’ Seefan was practically hysterical.

‘Calm down, Seefan. Look, it’s obvious the guy is a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He wasn’t even smart enough to know when he was being insulted. What a jerk!’

‘This one, he can kill with just a touch. No wise thing to make an enemy of him.’ Seefan took Sarah’s hands between her own. ‘Please Miss Sarah, allow your fear to flow its course. Do not seek to hide it behind a false mask nor spit the venom of your wrath. He will take unkindly such disrespect from one so young. Compose yourself in modesty, speak only when he asks of you; challenge no thing. In discretion lies your only hope of survival.’

Sarah tried to pull herself free, but Seefan held her tight.

‘Your youth and beauty are but fleeting things. They will not be enough to save you should you prove troublesome. He will take you fast, drawing into himself all that you are then he will destroy you. This I have beheld, for you are not the first.’

Sarah drew back, appalled.

‘Now come, you must eat, then rest. Think on all that I have said. Pray to your god for the strength you will need to stand before this man in humble grace, and I will pray to mine for your safe delivery.’

*****

‘Go straight in, Doctor Laird. Mr. Develin is expecting you.’ Develin’s secretary intoned as he nodded towards the massive wooden door.

Laird quickly fingered the knot of his tie, squared his shoulders then knocked discreetly. As he eased the heavy door shut, Develin’s secretary pushed a button inside the top drawer of his desk, locking the door with an audible metallic thud.

Develin sat at a desk on the far side of the room. A converted library, most of the books had been removed to accommodate racks of telecommunications equipment, computers, monitoring equipment and much more.

‘Well?’ Develin demanded, as Laird slipped into the chair offered him.

‘No difficulties, sir.’

‘And the girl?’

‘Miss Churchill is resting. Seefan is with her. I have encouraged her to take some nourishment since there is some slight dehydration; nothing to be too concerned about. She has, ah ... refused all meals since she was …’ He paused. ‘She kicked a tray out of the hands of one of Capritzo’s staff, sending food flying everywhere.’

He chuckled, but quickly sobered beneath Develin’s level gaze. He decided then not to mention the fact that Miss Churchill had quite expertly kicked Capritzo’s bodyguard, Maharsh, hard in the groin when they were getting her ready to go. Laird cleared his throat.

‘Perhaps you could expand upon Capritzo’s description of her as volatile.’

‘She is, ah … high-spirited, sir, very intelligent, quick-witted, unpredictable yes, but with careful handling I believe she will settle in very well.’

‘This is not an academy for errant young ladies, Laird, nor am I inclined to play the role of professor. I assume your examination of her was complete?’

Laird took a deep breath, partly to calm his nerves. ‘Yes sir. She was carefully examined in my presence. She is remarkably free of any skin defects. Her hair …’ Laird coughed into his cupped hand. ‘Excuse me sir, her hair colour is natural. While she was under I inserted the device ...’

Develin glared at him. ‘Capritzo had her drugged?’

‘It was the only way anyone could get close to her, sir.’

‘I see,’ Develin snapped, visibly annoyed.

Laird continued. ‘The, ah ... device can easily be removed using non-surgical techniques. It was necessary to cut her fingernails since they were marginally too long. And she was quite prepared to use them but you don’t want to know that. Her teeth are in excellent condition, the four wisdom teeth intact. Her ears are not pierced, which is unusual for her age group. Preliminary tests on the samples of blood taken have yielded the following information. Her hemoglobin level is well within an acceptable range, she shows no evidence of B12 or folic acid deficiencies nor …’

‘Doctor Laird, as fascinating as all this may seem to you, it is sufficient for me to know only that she is healthy and disease free.’

‘She is sir, on both counts. All the details are contained in my report.’ He reached inside his jacket pocket. ‘Mr. Capritzo asked me to deliver this to you, personally.’

Laird watched, fascinated, as Develin slit the envelope open using a razor-sharp blade capped by an intricately carved wolf’s head in jade. Deftly he removed the single sheet of paper and scanned it before setting it aside. ‘And the blood samples?’

‘I’ve handed them directly to Doctor Casey as requested, sir. The results have been promised by Monday noon. He will personally transmit the information then, if not sooner.’ The bitter tone of Laird’s voice alerted Develin immediately.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘No sir. I have obviously been under some misconceptions, that’s all.’

‘Cleared up, I trust.’

Laird glanced across as the piece of paper. ‘Yes sir, all cleared up.’

‘Good. Is there anything else?’

Laird hesitated. ‘Yes sir, there is. In my report I have made some recommendations regarding timing, especially as it relates to estrus; the stage at which conception can be virtually assured.’

‘Then, Doctor Laird, I believe you have the cart before the horse. Until such time as Miss Churchill has been cleared, I see no point in discussing the matter further. Unless there is something else, you are free to go.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Laird was almost at the door when the automatic locking mechanism sprang into action. He hesitated then turned. ‘Sir, what will happen to her if she proves unsatisfactory?’

‘That is none of your concern, Laird. Get out!’

*****

‘So she ruffled a few manly feathers did she, Carl?’ Develin asked, mildly amused as his bodyguard and lifelong friend paced the room.

‘She’s a bitch, Dick. She told me to tell you to go to hell!’

‘Did she indeed - well, well.’ He chuckled.

Carl smiled wickedly. ‘I’ll tell you what though, she’s one pretty thing. Eyes the colour of emeralds when she’s angry and believe me, right now she’s very, very angry.’

‘Yes, I imagine that she would be rather annoyed, under the circumstances.’

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Carl huffed. ‘Who is she Dick?’

Develin nodded towards a black folder on his desk. ‘There’s White’s dossier. Read it yourself.’

‘Well, I hope he did a better job this time than he did on the last. The fair young Sabrina was a disaster. Mark my words Dick you’re going to have trouble with this girl. If you decide to keep her, let me know and I’ll organize some ropes so you can tie her down otherwise she might get to you before you get to her, if you take my meaning.’

‘You underestimate my considerable charm.’

‘Don’t waste your time or your charm. Tie her down and plug her.’

‘Spoken like a gentleman.’

‘Bah!’ Carl retorted as he picked up the dossier. ‘Is there anything of particular interest?’

‘Her background we have known for some time. White has merely confirmed the facts so there is nothing new there - a father and a few distant cousins in England. No mother, no siblings, not even a maiden aunt. Read page nine.’

Carl leaned up against the side of Develin’s desk, turned to page nine and began.

Considerable time and effort has been spent researching Miss Churchill’s social background as you have specified. It would seem apparent to us that she is totally dedicated to the pursuit of her educational goals to the exclusion of all else.

Her relationship with her peer group could best be described as indifferent, her social life all but nonexistent.

Carl looked up surprised. ‘Strange.’

‘Read on,’ Develin suggested as he leaned back in his chair.

Although beyond the scope of this investigation, there are no indications whatsoever that Miss Churchill has had any close personal relationships, although apparently there have been frequent opportunities.

It is not beyond the realm of possibility then that she is sexually naive and likely to remain so for reasons which, as stated, go beyond our area of investigation. However, based on information gleaned from reliable sources, we strongly suspect that Miss Churchill has a predilection for men substantially older than herself.

‘Substantially older; what do you suppose that means translated - thirty?’

‘I think, translated, it means a predilection for a fair degree of financial security.’

‘Well, there you have it. Forget the charm Dick just show her your bank statement. That should definitely get her attention.’ He chuckled.

Develin offered Carl a withering glance. “Have I ever, during the course of our long association, told you how appalled I am by your horrific sense of humour?’

‘Many times,’ Carl replied with a shrug of indifference. He turned his attention once more to the report.

Well liked in general terms, Miss Churchill is, in the main, a solitary individual who, to use the overworked expression “does not suffer fools lightly”. Intelligent and resourceful, there is no need on her part to meet the expectations of others nor is there a requirement on her part to engage in any activity that she may deem unwise or inappropriate.

In summary, the writer feels compelled to report on two phrases which were used frequently by her peers when describing her. Please, bear in mind that both of these phrases are typical university vernacular - tightass and cock teaser.

Carl looked up as Develin slowly rose from his chair to stand by the window. The bleak winter landscape just beyond the glass matched his mood perfectly.

‘Congratulations old son, you have on your hands an avaricious virgin with an attitude. Take my advice, tie her down and plug her.’

Develin frowned.

‘Christ, you’re not having second thoughts are you?’

‘If I am, it’s a bit late for them now don’t you think?’

6

‘Sarah, wake up. It is time.’ Seefan gently squeezed Sarah’s arm.

‘I’m awake, Seefan.’

‘Did you sleep?’

‘A little. What time is it?’

‘It is almost seven. You must get up now, bathe and wash your hair, then dress. He is expecting you at table at eight o’clock. Come, I will help you.’

As the bathtub filled, Sarah stood before the mirrored closet as Seefan presented dress after dress for her inspection. All of them were in various shades of green.

‘He likes green, I gather. He isn’t a leprechaun is he, Seefan?’

Seefan was totally perplexed by the question. ‘I know not of what you speak. The green, he knows it is your colour.’

‘That’s nice,’ Sarah replied sarcastically. ‘This one, I think.’ She pointed to a full-length, dark green velvet.

She stayed in the bath for as long as she could, soaking up not only the warmth but the luxurious, calming influence until Seefan forced her out when she saw her fingertips beginning to wrinkle.

‘Tomorrow I will give you a massage with special creams meant for such skin as yours. It is important that a woman takes care of her skin.’

Wrapped in the warmth of a toweling bathrobe, Sarah was only half-listening as she wandered around the bedroom before stopping to admire again the canopied bed, the deep pile carpet, the wealth of paintings. All three rooms could best be described as opulent. Jokingly Sarah had referred to it collectively as “turn of the century whorehouse” although Seefan failed to understand.

‘What’s he like?’ Sarah asked pointedly as Seefan came into the room carrying the gown across one arm.

‘He is a difficult man to describe.’

‘Is he ugly?’

‘No!’ Seefan seemed surprised at the question. ‘Quite handsome yes and like you, pale of skin though his hair is dark. But now there is no time and soon, yes very soon, you shall see for yourself. Come, the gown first then I shall dress your hair.’

The dress fitted Sarah perfectly although the bust line cried out for more. ‘You have lost weight and so it shows,’ Seefan remarked as she stood behind Sarah to admire the reflection in the mirror. ‘He will not like this; you must eat more. Now, come and sit while I brush your hair to bring a shine like a copper sun.’

Sarah sat quietly hands in her lap as Seefan brush her hair, first one way then the other. The image reflected back from the small dressing table mirror was that of a frightened child despite all her best efforts to appear brave, defiant. All her resistance seemed to melt away as Seefan’s words echoed in her mind. He will take you fast … then destroy you … you are not the first.

‘Sarah, come child, it is time.’

As they exited together into the corridor, Carl was waiting.

‘Thank you, Seefan, I will escort Miss Churchill.’ He extended his arm, but Sarah casually chose to ignore him as she turned to Seefan. Words now unnecessary, Seefan smiled bravely, her chin raised in silent but unmistakable defiance. Sarah imitated her gesture then turned to walk with as much self-confidence as she could muster towards the stairs. Carl caught her arm just as she was about to descend. ‘As I have said, the stairs are dangerous. Please, take my arm so that I might conduct you down in safety.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Igor,’ Sarah purred.

‘It’s Carl, Miss Churchill,’ he growled between clenched teeth.

‘Yes, of course.’

*****

Carl opened the door leading into the library then stood back. ‘Go right in Miss Churchill, Mr. Develin is waiting.’

Sarah hesitated for a moment then entered. The door closed silently behind her. The room was immense. Books reached from floor to ceiling, covering most of the walls, while soft, tan colored leather sofas and chairs waited, ready to embrace even the most casual reader beneath lamps that glowed softly. Sarah was on her second pass of the room before she saw him at the far end, resting against the edge of a large desk, his arms folded across his chest. She froze.

‘Come closer,’ he said, the tone neutral.

She moved forward carefully, not taking her eyes from him for a moment. He watched her with great interest - the movement, the grace, the natural progression of the female of the species. Ten feet from him she stopped abruptly prepared for anything, but as his eyes met hers she grew weak at the knees. Pale, pale blue they were. More like the eyes of a predator than anything human. Instinctively she drew back a pace.

‘Good evening, Miss Churchill. I am Richard Develin. Welcome to Cavendish Hall.’ An English accent pitched low and evenly modulated; soothing yet precise.

Sarah had mentally prepared a speech, rehearsing the more strident words and phrases with gestures of moral indignation and disgust. The text was punctuated with “who the hell do you think you are”, the occasional “how dare you”, finally ending with a tightfisted threat that unless she was released immediately there would be the very devil to pay. The exercise was a total waste however as she stared helplessly at perhaps the most attractive man she had ever seen. This was not the way it should be and that thought suddenly horrified her, crippling her into total inaction.

Carefully, methodically his eyes explored every inch of her before he moved closer to finish his inspection with a slow pass beside her, then behind. He stopped just beyond the periphery of Sarah’s vision on the right side. She stood as if rooted to the spot; afraid to turn the few degrees it would take to confront him.

‘You are more beautiful than the pictures I have received recently.’

‘Yeah, well, pimps are notoriously poor photographers.’ The words were out before she had a chance to think.

‘Are they, Miss Churchill?’ The voice was suddenly cool, level and unmistakably menacing. Slowly he drew a pocket watch from the vest of his three-piece suit, consulted the time then slipped it back into its small pocket. Sarah stood ramrod straight, watching as he returned to the desk and picked up a black leather folder which he tucked under his arm before turning.

Six feet tall, slender, fifty if he was a day, his black hair was combed straight back and lightly oiled. The face was narrow, the nose slightly aquiline, which only served to heighten the overall impression of a predator. The eyes, set wide apart beneath arched brows, would miss nothing. One slight movement would be all it would take to …

‘Your accommodation; I trust you have found your rooms comfortable?’

‘Yes, thank you, very nice,’ she managed.

‘Good. Miss Penjan has informed me that you had a reasonable lunch. Chef worked especially hard to provide you with those foods that you favour. He does, however, have a tendency to become somewhat petulant when his efforts are not appreciated.’ He stared at Sarah pointedly. ‘You are too thin, Miss Churchill. The gown you are wearing was made especially for you, yet it fails to fit you properly. You must make every effort to regain the weight you have lost. I do not like bony females.’

‘Female?’ The word just blurted out.

‘Yes, female Miss Churchill. Surely you do not consider yourself a lady? I am kept remarkably well informed, as you will soon discover, and one of the traits I have learned of you is your colourful use of words and phrases. I think you will agree that such language is more suitable to the Bowery than in the mouth of an otherwise attractive young … female.’ There was a discreet knock on the door then it opened slowly. ‘Come in, Laird.’

‘Sorry I’m late, sir. The Stevens boy’s injury was far worse than originally thought. It was necessary to administer several stitches. Miss Churchill.’ He bowed slightly in her direction then smiled, lingering perhaps a second or two too long as his eyes washed over her.

Fresh from the outdoors, his face was flushed, his soft brown eyes delightfully merry, his manner generous and open. His sandy-colored hair, still moist from a hurried shower, had begun to curl at the back Sarah noted as he turned towards Develin.

‘If you had been much later, Laird, we would have started without you.’ Develin turned to Sarah and extended his arm. ‘Shall we?’

*****

The dining room was perhaps the most beautiful room Sarah had ever seen. Painted in eggshell white accented with Wedgwood blue, the color was repeated again and again in the Oriental carpets, the paintings and the wallpapered panels. The table was polished Honduras mahogany. Large enough to easily seat twelve, three intricate place settings had been arranged at the far end.

A staff member dressed in formal evening clothes eased Sarah into her seat on Develin’s right side. Laird sat across from her. Sarah found the profusion of cutlery alarming. She wasn’t up to a large meal, not now, not tonight.

Develin set the black folder on the edge of the table on Laird’s side.

‘How pale his skin is,’ she thought. The fingers were long and tapered, the nails finely manicured. His left hand carried two rings, one a diamond, the other a blood red ruby. She shuddered convulsively at the thought of him touching her. Desperately she tried to calm herself with several deep breaths.

She sat demurely, head down so as to avoid his eyes although she knew he was studying her intently.

‘Miss Churchill, I believe you have a particular fondness for avocados. Is that correct?’ His voice this time was all too charming as he forced her in the politest possible way to not only respond verbally but to acknowledge his presence by looking up or risk answering into her lap.

She hedged with a brief glance in his direction followed by a nod and a quick yes before she retreated.

‘Really, Miss Churchill, you are not wont to be so reticent.’ Develin’s manner remained polite, his smile unseen by Sarah. ‘Let me assure you that you are completely safe here and that both Doctor Laird and I have nothing but your best interests at heart.’

Sarah’s head shot up. ‘Then you will have no objection if I choose to leave right now?’

‘Leave? To go where?’ Develin asked, genuinely surprised.

‘Wherever I wish to go, thank you very much. You will excuse me please if I feel the loss of my personal freedom keenly. It is, however, a normal human emotion.’ Sarah emphasized the word normal as she confronted Develin openly, her anger and moral indignation obvious.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Miss Churchill, you have within these walls every comfort. The library is liberally stocked with books, including a great many that relate to your current studies. On the grounds you will find a tennis court, a swimming pool and a riding stable. Every whim that you may have will be catered for, every luxury indulged. There will be no further discussion tonight, nor any other night, regarding the past. If you choose not to take advantage of the situation, if you choose to remain obdurate, then I will have no recourse but to see that others are made to suffer in your stead. Do you understand me?’

Openly appalled, Sarah glanced across the table at Laird in the hope that he would come to her rescue, but he quickly looked down and away from her.

‘Enough,’ Develin sighed. ‘Threats, even veiled ones, make for a poor aperitif. Your gown, Miss Churchill, is perfect but something is lacking.’ From the inside pocket of his suit jacket came a diamond and emerald necklace. He stood then moved behind her. ‘If you would be so kind as to draw your hair free of your neck, I can then position this item correctly.’

Sarah did as she was told, closing her eyes tight as she felt first the cold bite of the necklace on her chest, her throat, then his fingers as he fastened the clasp. He moved away to admire the affect. Satisfied, he returned to his chair and rang a small silver dinner bell.

The three of them ate in silence for most of the meal. Although the food was excellent and included several items which Sarah considered her favorites, she found it difficult to consume very much. Develin watched her carefully but declined to make any comment. He was pleased to note, however, that she ate delicately, keeping her fork in her left hand throughout. ‘No doubt’, he mused, ‘a legacy from her English-born mother.’

When the wine was served, he ordered a large glass of cold milk and when she balked at any suggestion of dessert, he smiled knowingly. ‘Miss Churchill does not care for desserts, do you my dear? Perhaps, Charles, if you could arrange a platter of fresh fruit for her instead.’

Sarah was perplexed. When she looked at him, he smiled. ‘You are wondering, I think, how I know so much about you. It’s very simple. Contained in here,’ he indicated the folder, ‘is a complete dossier on you prepared over a four-month period by a reliable firm. It makes interesting reading.’

He reached for the folder. ‘You were born on the 12th of June at Waltham General Hospital. You will be twenty this year. Your father’s name is Anthony Douglas Churchill: your mother, Elizabeth Margaret Churchill nee Winthrope, which explains your middle name. Your mother was four months pregnant when she married your father. After nearly seventeen years of marriage, you remain the only offspring. Your father is a senior executive with Yates and Milne, while your mother has dabbled with some degree of success in real estate.’ He paused briefly as he turned the page. ‘Three years ago your mother died behind the wheel of her car in a horrific crash. She did not die alone. With her were found the remains of a young man - her lover it is presumed, since she spent the last few hours of her life in a motel room in the company of a boy who reasonably fits the description of …’

Sarah jumped up, knocking over her glass of milk in the process. ‘How dare you!’

‘Sit down,’ he snapped, on the verge of losing his temper. ‘This is old news to you so please, spare me your moral indignation. Your mother’s predilection for young, attractive men is understandable. She was a handsome woman ignored by a husband more intent upon his career than satisfying the needs and,’ he paused as he regarded Sarah closely, ‘desires of his wife. Now, sit down so that I might continue.’

She stood rigid, her eyes fixed on the wall opposite. ‘I would like to go back to my room please.’

Develin sighed as he leaned back in his chair before closing the folder and tossing it onto the table. ‘If that is what you wish, my dear.’ He turned to the butler. ‘Charles, I believe Mr. Emery is just outside.’

‘Yes sir.’

Moments later Carl arrived. ‘Mr. Emery, would you please escort Miss Churchill to her rooms and see that she is carefully locked in for the night.’

‘Yes sir,’ Carl replied sharply.

Develin turned his attention once more to Sarah. ‘Before you go, Miss Churchill, there is one thing more I wish to say. It seems apparent to me that the Winthrope line possesses a less than puritanical streak. Despite stringent attempts on your part to prove to the world otherwise, it may be that you are, after all, your mother’s daughter. Good night.’

When she was gone Develin turned his attention to Laird. ‘You are very quiet this evening, doctor. Have you nothing to say?’

‘Sir, she’s just a kid.’

‘Do you think so? You may be a good doctor, Laird, but a terrible judge of females. That “kid” as you call her is overripe for the taking. She oozes sensuality. Scratch that thin veneer and beneath you will find a whore.’

‘I would like to think sir, that beneath I would find a woman.’

‘Is there a difference, Laird?’

‘Yes sir, a woman you love and cherish.’

Develin chuckled, genuinely amused.

Sarah stormed down the hall leading to the staircase, her hands clenched into two fists of pure fury. Carl followed close behind then sprang forward to take her arm as she began her ascent. She pulled away from him violently. ‘Don’t you dare touch me or I’ll scream bloody murder,’ she hissed as she rounded on him, her eyes flashing in rage. ‘Get out of my way, you bastard!’

He backed away from her with a slight bow and a trace of an apologetic smile.

All of this was, of course, reported to Develin.

7

‘He’s a creep, Seefan!’ Sarah announced as soon as they were beyond earshot.

‘Sarah, please,’ Seefan pleaded as she glanced back towards the Conservatory where Carl stood, arms folded across his chest, watching them intently. ‘Mr. Carl, he might hear.’

‘I don’t care, damn it! You know, I’ve been wondering why he kidnaps girls. Now I know. Can you imagine coming face to face with that at a party? God, how I hate that cold blooded bastard!’ She kicked at a row of miniature box hedging plants clustered along the edge of the pathway.

Carl watched her closely. ‘She has a temper and so does he. This could be bad. This could be very, very bad. Christ Dick, what are you thinking?’

Despite the fact that it was wintertime, the garden through which Sarah and Seefan walked was relatively warm, protected from the weather by stout stone and brick walls, creating an artificial environment in which roses in particular, flourished.

After walking for a few minutes, Sarah finally broke the silence by asking, ‘Is he married?’

‘No, he has no wife.’

‘Not even one locked away in an attic somewhere?’

Seefan frowned. ‘I know not what you mean.’

‘You would if you were a Brontë fan.’ Sarah turned away. Hands on hips she studied the length of the stone wall while measuring its height, and its strength. She sighed. ‘And right now all this is beginning to take on the trappings of an excellent gothic horror story. What about you Seefan, why are you here?’

‘I asked to come ... begged to. You see, I was married in India to a man forty years older. I was but a child of fifteen when the marriage was arranged. My husband and Mr. Develin knew each the other in business ways. Five years I stayed in this marriage but my husband was cruel and would beat me for no reason. In hospital I miscarried of a child after such an evil beating and then I could conceive no more. His anger with me grew and I feared for my life. I poisoned him, then I ran. Hindu law, it is not kind to wives who murder their husbands. I waited, knowing that Mr. Develin would soon come to India on his business. He gave me money and travel papers so I could escape the country. That was now almost four years ago.’

Sarah stared open-mouthed.

‘Mr. Develin is, as I said, a most difficult man to understand. He saved my life so now I think it belongs to him yet awhile.’

Sarah tried to frame her question carefully, but Seefan anticipated her.

‘You will ask of me if I have slept with him, yes? He is an accomplished lover, if that is what you wish to know, though in truth I am unschooled in such things.’

‘Jeez Seefan, how could you! I mean …’

‘You are too quick to judge others, my friend. I stand before you a murderess in confession yet if you had been told by another, would you have believed it of me?’

‘I’m sorry, Seefan.’

‘It is of no matter. Yours is a disease of youth and inexperience. You will find as you grow older and life plucks at you like a hungry bird, nothing is as it seems and we learn to recognize that even within the shadows found between the bright colours, truth is often hidden.’

Sarah frowned. ‘Yesterday you said something about me not being the first. What did you mean?’

‘There was a girl, some months ago since. She was somewhat younger, I think, than you. She came here as you have come and he was well pleased with her though he knew not then of her falseness.’

‘He likes them young?’ Sarah whispered, appalled.

‘She was but eighteen, yes.’

‘God’s breath,’ Sarah hissed. ‘What happened to her?’

‘Happy she seemed at the start when he initiated her in the ways of love. Her appetite, however, was but whetted and she craved more, but not from him. Her attraction grew for another more her own age and so she would have him, heedless of the dangerous path upon which she trod. He gave her freedom and she ill-used it and him, calling her lover to her side when he was distant and unknowing. But Mr. Carl, he knew. He came upon them fast in each other’s arms in the still of the night. He called one witness only to this, and it was I. Later I was required to say of all that I had seen before Mr. Develin. His rage was terrible; his justice swift.’ Seefan paused, suddenly frightened as she remembered.

‘Seefan, what did he do to her?’

Seefan looked away. ‘I think he would have beaten her to her death but that Mr. Carl, he intervened and asked for the girl. Quickly she was taken from the house to the one that stands at the old gate. Mr. Carl, he kept her there for a week then she was seen no more.’

‘Carl killed her?’

‘She was seen no more. That is all I know.’

They walked in silence for some time, until Seefan added, ‘You will not enjoy such freedom as she. Close will he keep you should the time come.’ She took Sarah’s hand tenderly. ‘He can be a very generous man and will indulge you in much, but he will not take kindly if you do not attend upon his wishes and his desires in all things. I would not have the same fate as befell this one called Sabrina to be yours also. Come, let us go in. It grows cold.’

Seefan stood just inside the Conservatory and watched, hands cupped in front of her, as Sarah wandered through the maze of tropical plants, stopping now and again to admire the profusion of delicate orchids ranging in colour from a pale green to a russet brown. The palms in particular seemed to delight her although her delight was tempered by sadness, and something deeper.

Seefan frowned. ‘Like a beautiful little bird, kept safe within a cage with all that can be desired, yet a cage nevertheless while just beyond the wolf waits, and watches.’

She settled on a stone bench beside a small fountain playing happily into a pond of water lilies. Just beneath the surface of the water tiny goldfish darted and then, as if in fright, they disappeared en masse into the safety of the depths, leaving nothing but the memory behind.

Through the heavy steel and glass doors which separated the Conservatory from the main hallway at the eastern end of the house, Seefan could clearly see Carl Emery engaged in conversation with Develin’s secretary, Paul. Frequently Carl would glance into the Conservatory, monitoring, never allowing Sarah out of his sight for a moment.

Sarah sat down beside her. ‘Seefan, what does he want?’

‘That is for him to say, but it would seem that you have been selected for a special task.’

‘Task? What do you mean?’

Seefan turned away, content for the moment to run her hand along the surface of the water. ‘I think he would have you bear for him a son.’

‘Never!’ Sarah exploded.

‘Then it is wise of me to give you such a truth now, here within this quiet place, for then you may prepare yourself for when the time comes and you learn this of him.’

Sarah’s mind whirled. That was why he was prepared to indulge her, why he insisted that she eat more, why he would punish others rather than … ‘Oh my God! Seefan, this can’t happen. I … Tell me that I have a choice, that maybe if I …’ But Seefan turned her face from her. ‘Please Seefan, help me!’

‘There is nothing I can do.’

Sarah leapt from the seat then backed away as Carl appeared.

‘I am afraid I must curtail your stroll this afternoon, ladies. Mr. Develin has urgent business to attend to which necessitates his absence until Sunday. He has asked me to ensure that you are both returned to your respective accommodation forthwith. Come with me, please.’

Seefan rose obediently and began to follow Carl but Sarah stood her ground. ‘I would rather stay here than be locked in my room, thank you!’

Carl sighed. ‘Miss Penjan, please explain to Miss Churchill that unless she does as she is told, neither of you will be allowed to come here again and that would be a pity.’

Sarah glared at him, her lips drawn tight in anger, her eyes flashing bright green but Seefan stepped in and defused the situation. ‘Come Sarah, please.’

8

By lunchtime the following day, Sarah was thoroughly bored with her own company so when Carl arrived to unlock the door to admit the kitchen maid, she was ready. ‘I would like to spend some time in the library. I have nothing to do here and …’

‘Yes, of course,’ he replied, almost as if he anticipated her request. He nodded towards the tray. ‘Eat your lunch like a good little girl. I will return in one hour, and if you have done well, then I would be pleased to escort you to the library. If it is company you seek, perhaps Miss Penjan might care to join you.’

Sarah smiled sweetly although she relished the thought of dropping this monster where he stood.

She ate what she wanted then flushed the rest down the toilet, leaving a suggestive portion for the sake of authenticity. He seemed pleased when he returned so Sarah breezed out the door and straight downstairs, leaving Carl huffing and puffing in her wake.

*****

The selection of books in the library was astounding. Carefully grouped by subject, the range was varied, worldly and occasionally macabre. Books on superstition, torture, witchcraft and demonology shared the shelves with medical texts, biographies, historical texts, poetry, saints and zoology. She paused briefly at works by Jean-Paul Sartre and Voltaire, Conrad and Alexander Pope set neatly beside volumes on Constitutional Monarchy, the French Revolution, the Spanish Inquisition and not surprising on a shelf nearby, the Kama Sutra.

She swallowed hard and moved on quickly, finally selecting a book on medieval beliefs and customs. When she reached the section on arranged marriages, particularly between older men and girls as young as fourteen, she returned the book to the shelf and chose instead a medical text that seemed familiar.

She couldn’t concentrate. Finally she set the book aside and wandered over to the window to look out, beyond the thick metal bars. The day was dying, moving from one shade of grey into the next, growing deeper into shadow beneath a sky heavy with clouds promising rain. The vast expanse of open lawn was dotted with massive oak trees, while sheep grazed, their wool parted down the middle of their backs, hanging limp and sodden on either side.

‘Where am I?’ she whispered aloud.

In one hell of a fix, that’s where.

She turned away from the window to allow her eyes to wander around the room, although she wasn’t actually seeing very much through a veil of tears that had formed in sympathy with her trembling lips and tight throat. ‘Keep calm. It’s important that I keep calm, think, find an avenue of escape; find some way out.’

Not this time, Sarah. This isn’t one of those dates gone wrong where you can excuse yourself to the Ladies then grab a taxi instead, leaving the guy behind with an empty chair to stare at, and the bill. This time you’re going to be stuck with the bill and a lot more besides. Ha Ha.

‘Shut up!’ she shouted at herself. ‘The flight: morning came too soon, which suggests ... what? Could a plane like that fly the Atlantic? Probably ... well ... just. Ergo, most likely Ireland. Of course! When the driver got out of the car, the steering wheel was on the right, not the left. Ireland! Holy cow!’

Hey babe, you’re an import! Maybe you should ask how much you cost. That would be interesting. What is the going rate these days for imported virgins? But then again, from the looks of this place, he can afford it. Maybe that’s his hobby. Some guys fix up old cars, some skydive and some collect girls and force them to have children by them. It sounds reasonable to me. Maybe he’s planning to father a whole baseball team, or would it be cricket? What a pleasant thought, sitting and watching little Freddie or Susie playing away happily with his/her half brothers and sisters. What a Mother’s Day event that would be; a regular Develin family excursion! Except, I don’t think he keeps the mothers. Sorry about that.

So, you asked and there it is. You’re somewhere in Ireland, on a private estate most likely, with a man who has lots of money and absolutely no sense of morality, who will quite happily beat you to death if you don’t behave. Does that sound about right? Have I left anything out? Oh yes, after the boss is finished with you, and assuming there’s something left, Igor gets a turn. Then what? What do you mean ‘then what’? You know what, so please spare me the denial bit. In fact, I think you’d better start practicing the yes’s, because, quite frankly, I don’t think this bastard is going to take no for an answer. And, I don’t think he’s prepared to wait long before he insists upon seeing a return on his investment, if you take my meaning.

She thought of her father. By now he would know that she had disappeared. ‘I’m sorry Dad. You see, I went on this date with this guy and well, you wouldn’t believe what happened!’ Sarah sobered. Her father already had a major drinking problem, ever since her mother died, and now this.

Then she saw the telephone on a side table near the door. Quickly she crossed the room and picked up the receiver. At first she wasn’t sure if it was working, then …

‘Switchboard.’ A male voice. There was a slight pause. ‘I am sorry, Miss Churchill, but Mr. Develin has left strict instructions not to allow you access to an outside line. My apologies.’

The telephone went dead in her hand. For a second she thought she was going to be sick but Seefan arrived just then so she wiped away the tears, squared her shoulders and smiled bravely.

They talked about all sorts of silly things. Sarah tried to amuse Seefan with several humorous stories going the rounds at med-school, but it was obvious that Seefan was not up to a rapid repartee, perhaps because Sarah would occasionally slip from the conversation to test the various doors that lead off the library.

‘Would you try to escape?’ Seefan asked, perplexed.

‘With him away? Damn right I would.’

‘You would not get far. This house, it lies in the middle of a vast tract of land, some, it is said, filled with a mud that will suck you to your death. Wild and windblown are the highlands, the forests deep and filled with wild animals. At night, dogs are set free to roam through the darkened hours.’ She shivered.

Sarah was less than impressed. ‘I’ll take my chances with quicksand, exposure and a pack of mongrels, thank you very much. At least if I die, I die trying.’ Her eyes filled with tears but she quickly wiped them away. ‘It’s academic in any case. We’re locked in tight.’ She returned and sat down beside Seefan. ‘What we need is some music.’

‘There is a machine that plays, here in the cupboard,’ Seefan volunteered as she slid off the leather sofa. Quickly she unhooked a series of wood panels then folded them back to reveal a magnificent jukebox.

‘It’s a Wurlitzer!’ Sarah exclaimed as she jumped up. ‘Who would have thought El Creepo would have something like this. Fantastic!’

‘Please Sarah, you must not call him by such bad names.’ Seefan’s face betrayed pure terror.

Sarah frowned. ‘Seefan, he’s not even here for heaven’s sake. Why are you so afraid of him? You sleep with him yet you’re afraid of him. What kind of relationship is that?’

‘The kind that allows for my survival.’

Sarah stared at Seefan in horror. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Seef - any of it. Right now I’m in the mood for a good time. Let’s see if I can get it working. I love these things!’

Ten minutes later the library rocked with the music of the fifties. As the unit warmed, bubbles began to percolate upwards through brightly coloured glass tubes set in chrome. Sarah was delighted as she danced around the room, lost for a moment of time in another era.

Suddenly the music stopped. When she spun around to see why, Carl Emery stood just a few feet from her. ‘This machine is Mr. Develin’s personal property, Miss Churchill. Also, I very much doubt if he would approve of you cavorting around his library in bare feet.’ He stared at her fixedly.

‘Igor, how wonderful to see you although I don’t remember sending out invitations. What a pity, we were just about to play The Monster Mash if you would care to stay and listen ... maybe cavort a little?’

‘No thank you, Miss Churchill. I’m pleased to see that you are in such good humour although I doubt it will last. It is now nearly six o’clock. Chef would care to know what you would like him to prepare for you, and Miss Penjan, of course.’

‘Do you like pizza, Seef?’ Sarah asked.

‘I do not know. I have never had such a thing.’

‘Never had a pizza!’ Sarah was scandalized. ‘Igor - I mean Carl - would you see if Chef could manage a double cheese, pepperoni and pineapple pizza, Coke and maybe some popcorn too?’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Ladies night out tonight.’

Carl bowed and retreated. Sarah rubbed her hands in glee while tee-heeing triumphantly. She leapt onto the sofa beside Seefan and tickled her quickly in the ribs. ‘Oh come on, Seef, he’s not so bad. Who knows, a few more days away from Develin and old Carl might just turn into a human being. Relax, will you.’

But Seefan’s attention was on the wall behind them, her eyes carefully and methodically searching for the hidden camera she felt sure was recording their every word, their every gesture.

Sarah watched her for a moment then slid down below the level of the back of the sofa, pulling Seefan with her. ‘I know what you’re looking for,’ she whispered into Seefan’s ear. ‘How about we play a trick?’

‘A trick?’

‘See those screens behind the desk?’ Sarah nodded towards a pair of folding Chinese lacquered partitions, used perhaps to give extra privacy to someone using the library. ‘I think that between the two of us we can just about handle them, one at a time. Come on.’

As Sarah was about to move the left-hand panel, she noticed another door. ‘Where does this lead?’ She tried turning the handle but this door too was locked.

‘To Mr. Develin’s private rooms,’ Seefan replied.

‘Oh.’ Sarah backed away. ‘Here, Seef, give me a hand.’

A few minutes later the panels were in place. Each six feet high and covering a total length of twelve feet, Sarah, with Seefan’s help, positioned them immediately behind the sofa. Satisfied, Sarah curled up on the sofa once more, pulling Seefan down beside her. ‘Now, this is the plan. When Carl comes back, bringing our pizza I hope, watch him carefully. With a bit of luck, he’ll tell us at a glance exactly where the lens is.’

‘Then what will happen?’

‘Then, my dear, I will personally shut it down permanently.’

‘Mr. Develin, he will be angry. No, you must not do this!’ Seefan began to panic.

‘Seef, I understand and I promise you I’ll take all the blame. Up to now it’s just a silly game with no harm done. If I succeed in destroying the camera, it’ll be recorded that I did it. You needn’t be held in any way responsible.’

‘But ... why do you do this thing?’ Seefan asked, horrified.

Sarah paused, considering. ‘I’m not like you, Seefan. Without question or thought you do whatever he asks of you, right?’

Seefan nodded, biting at her lower lip in fear and confusion.

‘Yeah well, that’s the way it is in your culture, but not in mine. He has taken away from me everything that’s important to me. I’ve lost my father, friends, the life I once knew. All of it has ceased to exist because of him. Most of all he’s taken away my freedom and now he seeks to control my future. He has no right to do that, Seef. It belongs to me, not to him. I have to fight back in any way I can. I fully appreciate the fact that you feel that you owe him some measure of loyalty, but I don’t.’

Seefan’s eyes glistened with tears. ‘He will hurt you.’

‘He already has,’ Sarah replied in a voice harsh with emotion.

*****

When Carl returned, Sarah was ready for him. ‘You did it!’ she shouted in glee as the kitchen maid followed immediately behind, pushing a mobile table heavy with cutlery, dishes, serviettes, a massive double cheese, pepperoni and pineapple pizza, a large bottle of Coca-Cola and a bowl of popcorn. The only extras were two large glasses of milk and two bowls of strawberry ice cream.

She watched carefully as Carl surveyed the room in undisguised horror. ‘Bingo!’ She mentally exclaimed as Carl measured the angle upwards to an oil painting - an eighteenth century hunting scene. ‘How appropriate,’ she thought derisively.

‘Do I smell pizza?’ Laird stuck his head in through the open door. Carl turned swiftly, angry at this unexpected intrusion.

‘Doctor Laird!’ Sarah shouted. ‘Come in. Smells wonderful, doesn’t it? Carl organized the whole thing. What a sweetie. Thank you, Carl.’

Her saccharine smile was lost on him as he neared the partitions. ‘These must be removed! Laird, help me get these back to where they belong.’

Sarah and Seefan retreated while their little barricade was dismantled.

‘Everything in this room is as Mr. Develin has ordered. Nothing is to be changed or rearranged. Miss Churchill, you will eat your meal. In thirty minutes I will return to escort you to your rooms.’ His anger bordered on the explosive.

‘Don’t worry Carl,’ Laird cut in, ‘I’ll see that everything is put back just so. I trust you will have no objection if I stay and enjoy this feast?’

‘By all means, Doctor Laird.’ He smiled thinly as he exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone Sarah hurried across the room to stand beneath the painting. She nodded to Seefan, who nodded back. Then she had Laird to contend with.

‘Miss Churchill,’ he whispered, ‘Sarah, I ...’

She cut him off instantly as she grabbed his throat before putting her index finger to her lips. Silently she moved a chair into position, stood on it and tried to unhook the painting from its hanger. The lens of the camera held the painting in place so she had to twist the painting free to reveal the lens at chest level. From her pocket came a dinner knife, silver-plated and heavy. With a single blow she smashed the lens, rendering the camera inoperable.

‘If you have something to say, Laird, you better make it quick,’ she said as she re-hung the painting and began her descent from the chair.

‘Oh, my God!’ Laird stared open-mouthed.

‘Surprised, are we?’ Sarah huffed as she walked away.

Laird hesitated for a moment, then grabbed Sarah’s arm at the elbow and pulled her across the room to the left. ‘If you’re into surprises, here’s another.’ He drew out a cluster of keys from his jacket pocket, selected one and inserted it into a small keyhole almost hidden at the front of the wooden shelving. He turned the key carefully then began to probe with his left hand for the secret button concealed near the back of the shelf. With a metallic click and a dull hum, a door opened in the facade, revealing a small vault-like alcove. Filing cabinets lined the back wall.

‘Wow! Does Develin know about this?’

‘I would think so. The cabinets are locked and I don’t have keys, but I bet those little beauties contain some very interesting reading. Valuable enough to be kept locked away like this.’ He turned towards her. ‘Sarah, I ... look, I’m sorry about what’s happened. I had no idea that … well, it doesn’t matter. The thing is that I want to help you to escape. If I could hide here before … just one good shot and…’

Sarah stared, incredulous. ‘Shoot him?’ She whispered, appalled.

‘He deserves to die.’

‘You would risk killing him … for me?’

‘For you, Sarah, I would risk all there is and more.’

‘Put it back, quick!’ Sarah ordered, horrified and confused. Her heart beat wildly. ‘Carl will be back any minute once he …’

‘Then I have just enough time to …’ Laird cupped her face in his hands and kissed her quickly. ‘I do believe I love you, Sarah,’ he whispered just as the door closed with an audible thud. He quickly turned and removed the key, slipping the ring into his jacket pocket.

Sarah backed away, visibly shaken.

‘Sarah, Doctor Laird, be quick!’ Seefan hissed. ‘You must seem to eat with all things as they should be.’

When Carl entered the room, he was beyond simply furious. Behind him came another of the type, far younger, powerfully built and prepared to do exactly as ordered. ‘Take Miss Churchill back to her rooms, now,’ Carl barked as he moved aside to allow his protégé room to maneuver.

*****

Sarah remained locked in her rooms, alone. Meals were delivered, but orders had been given, so she no longer enjoyed any measure of freedom. Books were brought to her from the library, but she remained confined, contenting herself with a wide variety of topics, none of which succeeded in lifting the veil of fear that had become her constant companion. Develin was due back Sunday, so she waited, as did everyone else.

9

‘She destroyed the main camera,’ Carl said in disgust, ‘but not the secondary one. The video portion is imperfect, the angle less than ideal, but I think you will find what you are about to see, and hear, very interesting.’

It was almost six in the morning. Develin had returned two hours earlier and had insisted on showering and changing before he was prepared to indulge Carl. Now he sat casually dressed and totally relaxed behind his desk as the monitor burst into life and the events of Friday night were screened.

Sarah looked particularly attractive in a pale green silk lounge suit so, for a while at least, he watched, quite taken by her youth and vitality. His mood changed rapidly, however, as it suddenly dawned on him that she was methodically plotting the destruction of a valuable piece of hardware. At the end there was a flash of green then the screen went blank.

‘Thank you, Carl.’ Develin sighed as he swiveled in his chair and prepared to rise. ‘I shall have to give thought to some form of punishment. Perhaps …’

‘There’s more,’ Carl said flatly. ‘This is what the second camera recorded.’

Carl inserted another tape, preset to begin the moment Sarah positioned the chair beneath the painting. Although at a greater distance, the secondary camera recorded down the length of the room. He stood back and calmly watched and waited for Develin’s reaction.

‘Turn it off!’ Develin hissed as he sprang from his chair. ‘Where’s Laird?’

‘In his room; sleeping peacefully, I assume. I’ve kept him under close surveillance, of course. If he should try his door, he’ll find it locked. As far as I know he is unaware that there’s anything amiss. I checked and the keys came from the safe in the security room. How the hell he got hold of them God only knows.’ He paused, suddenly concerned. ‘Dick, I have a transcription of what was said if you …’

‘I heard what was said.’

‘It seems apparent that Miss Churchill was taken completely by surprise so it’s safe to assume, I think, that she’s quite innocent of any ...’

Develin laughed wickedly. ‘Innocent! Yes, well, we will soon see, won’t we?’ He paused, considering. ‘I think we should give Laird just enough rope. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ Carl replied, smiling broadly.

*****

Develin stood, hands behind his back, as the report from Boston poured from the telex machine. After three pages it halted, humming contentedly for a moment before pushing through a fourth page.

‘There’s more, sir, for your eyes only,’ Laird advised as he neatly ripped the length of paper from the machine then stepped back.

Two more pages followed before the machine gave a final convulsive trill then fell silent. With nothing more than a cursory glance, Develin extracted the pages, folded them and tucked them inside his jacket before turning to Laird. ‘Well?’

Laird looked up and smiled thinly. ‘Absolutely no indications whatsoever of any inherent genetic weakness, sir. She is totally healthy in every respect.’

‘Then we can proceed,’ Develin responded his tone flat, glacial.

‘Sir, I believe I mentioned earlier my concerns regarding timing.’ Laird paused, suddenly anxious.

‘I have read your report, Laird, and have, in fact, marked down the date you yourself suggested. If memory serves, it is a week from today. Is that correct?’

Laird nodded. ‘Sir, I, ah…’

‘I have also taken into account what you have said regarding the chances of a virgin, such as Miss Churchill,’ he smiled coolly, ‘successfully conceiving during this fertile period. I can assure you there will be no difficulty, since I have every intention of bedding her well in advance of the date prescribed.’

‘I, ah … I think it would be better if you gave her more time to settle in. She’s only been here a couple of days, and well, a month would…’

‘I have absolutely no wish to wait any longer, Laird. Besides,’ Develin turned and faced Laird square on, ‘I am sure that you, given the chance, would also be eager to explore the possibilities offered by this young girl. Or am I mistaken?’ Cold blue eyes regarded Laird fixedly.

‘I just thought, that … I mean, if she had an opportunity to get to know you better and, ah ... you her. A month perhaps to woo her and …’

‘Woo her! Are you mad? This subject has been discussed before. A month ago you had no qualms whatsoever so why this sudden change in attitude?’

Laird stood his ground, returning Develin’s gaze directly. ‘Because a month ago I was dealing with an abstract concept. It didn’t occur to me then that I was going to find myself party to the rape of an innocent young girl.’

‘Get out, you little bastard before I kill you where you stand. Carl, show Doctor Laird out.’ Develin was shaking with rage. ‘Laird!’ he shouted across the length of the room, ‘I will have her this very night, do you hear me and there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it.’

*****

Seefan stood in the small, almost intimate music room amid a collection of instruments, including a baby grand, shiny black, its keys covered.

She remembered a time, years ago now, when he had played for her here, in this room. Such beautiful music it had been, so romantic, so pleasant. Then her heart sank as she remembered the rest of that night when it had not been so romantic; or so pleasant.

She walked to the window and watched the sheep crop the short grass in the circular area formed by the driveway, the swoop of a bird, the afternoon sun pale behind a thin blanket of cloud.

She didn’t hear Develin enter the room, nor was she aware of his presence until he was perhaps ten feet from her. She turned, smiled pleasantly then bowed low, her gold jewelry making a pleasant tinkling sound as she moved.

‘Seefan, you look well. Could it be that a diet of pizza and Coke agrees with you?’

‘Lord, you wish to speak with me?’ she whispered, keeping her eyes averted as she had been taught to do.

‘I have brought you a gift,’ he said as he retrieved a tiny gold and silver casket from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Seefan took it eagerly then opened it to reveal a single precious black pearl. ‘It is of the finest quality. There are more, of course, provided that you do all that I ask of you.’

‘My lord,’ Seefan whispered as she bowed before him.

‘Now, I believe you have something for me.’

She looked up at him in alarm.

‘Give it to me,’ he demanded.

She extracted an envelope from inside her sari and handed it to him. Her fingers trembled. She watched as he turned towards the window and looked outside, turning the envelope around and around between his fingers as if reluctant to read the note contained inside.

‘I know not what it is,’ Seefan said, her voice tight with apprehension.

‘Don’t you, Seefan?’ He asked as he slit the envelope open.

Dear Miss Churchill – Sarah

There is no time now for explanations. Know only that I love you and will do all I can to see you free of this monster. In the library tonight, knock on the panel door when he is far enough away from you, across the room. One good shot, my dearest, and you will be free of him, as will I.

In Love, Peter Laird

Develin produced an identical envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He folded the note and placed it inside before sealing the envelope closed. ‘Do as Doctor Laird has asked of you, Seefan. Deliver this to Miss Churchill straight away.’

10

‘No, you must Sarah - please,’ Seefan begged.

‘I’ve already had one meal with that bastard. Tell him I’m not hungry. Tell him I’ve got a headache. Whatever it takes but I categorically refuse. If he wants to have a chat in the library, fine, but no dinner. I mean it, Seefan!’

Seefan was about to reply but was interrupted by a light rapping at the door. The heavy lock drew back and the door opened. Carl stood holding a cardboard box which he deftly handed to Seefan before withdrawing, closing and locking the door behind him.

‘What’s that?’ Sarah asked, intrigued.

Carefully Seefan cut the seals then opened the lid to reveal a pure white gown of silk inlaid with seed pearls, trimmed with lace.

Sarah drew back, appalled, as Seefan lifted the gown out of the box, purring softly as she touched the exquisite fabric. ‘Oh, so beautiful. Sarah, feel how soft is the silk. He would have you wear this tonight.’

‘Over my dead body!’ Sarah reacted more in fear than anger. ‘Do you know what that is, Seefan? It’s a wedding gown. God in heaven!’ she gasped. ‘Seefan, you must go to him, explain that I …’

‘Words are of no matter now. He has decided that you are to be the one. You must now make whatever peace you can within yourself and accept your fate. It is the will of the gods.’ Seefan’s words cut like shattered glass. She stood and turned to face Sarah straight on. ‘You will bathe now, wash your hair and scent your body as I will prescribe, then you shall wear this gown like a queen and go to him of your own free will. If you do not, then you will be brought to him by force, like an animal.’

‘You knew all along, didn’t you?’ Sarah hissed, her hands clenched tight in anger.

‘Only of the possibility,’ Seefan replied casually. ‘You will make for this man a fine son and heir to all you see. This child you shall bear him will know unlimited power and wealth. From your womb will come a new generation, to his lasting joy.’

‘You’re crazy if you think I won’t put up a fight!’

Seefan smiled, tilting her head to the side. ‘Would you have Doctor Laird suffer?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Unless you do exactly as I ask, then I will go to him and tell him of what I saw between you and Doctor Laird in the library. He will not be pleased by such news.’ She smiled evenly. ‘If you choose to resist him, you can but try. He would relish such a challenge. But be warned, you will lose and then he will extract a terrible vengeance.’

‘I thought you were my friend.’

‘I am, though right now I may not seem so,’ Seefan acknowledged. ‘Come, there is little time and much to do.’

*****

An hour later Sarah stood before the full-length mirror and stared back at her reflection. The beauty she saw there offered her no hope, nor was there pleasure in it. She was dressed as if she was about to be sacrificed, and she knew it.

‘He has sent these for you to wear with this gown,’ Seefan whispered in awe as she held up a string of pearls. Sarah barely moved as Seefan raised the necklace over her head before drawing the ends together, locking them in place, allowing the pearls to fall, snow-white, of even size and priceless.

‘Tears of the sea,’ Sarah whispered, before turning away from the mirror and towards the door.

*****

‘How long has it been?’ Develin asked as he dropped the remains of a handmade unfiltered Turkish cigarette into the fireplace.

Carl shrugged. ‘Just over an hour, I would guess. He’s been missing at least that long.’ He chuckled. ‘A pity really - such a good doctor, such a poor judge of firearms.’

Laird had taken a pistol from Develin’s private collection; a handsome piece with a pearl handle, right out of the American West. Unfortunately, the bullets were wrong. Even Develin was unsure if the gun would merely refuse to fire or explode in Laird’s hand. It was all academic in any case, since it was very likely that Laird would suffocate in the airless recess he had unwisely chosen. Develin knew from personal experience as a child when his nurse had hauled him out just in time. Unknown to Laird, the internal mechanism had been disabled, effectively locking him in once the heavy door closed.

‘She’ll be here soon. Do you want your injection now?’

Develin sighed and began to roll up the sleeve of his left arm. ‘Yes, now would be fine.’ He leaned back and drifted for a moment as the syringe bit into a vein.

Carl carefully pulled his sleeve back into place then moved away, concerned.

‘Stop fussing, Carl.’

‘You don’t sleep enough. You rest, but you don’t sleep,’ Carl intoned with finality.

‘Plenty of time for that in my tomb,’ Develin replied evenly. ‘Tonight I shall sleep between the thighs of a beautiful young ...’ he smiled sardonically, ‘woman.’

‘You will find no rest there.’

‘Perhaps not; we shall see.’ Develin rose slowly from his chair as he heard footsteps in the hallway.

Carl’s young protégé, whose name was Brett as Sarah had discovered, was too nervous and unsure to take her arm as she began her descent of the stairs.

‘How old are you, Brett?’ Sarah asked.

‘Twenty-three, Miss.’

‘And you have been in Mr. Develin’s employ for …?’

‘I was born here, Miss. My dad is the gardener and Mum, she helps with the laundry sometimes.’

‘Do you know where you are taking me, and why?’ Sarah paused halfway down the stairs.

‘That is Mr. Develin’s business, Miss, and if you don’t mind me saying so, it’s best left as his business. It’s not for the likes of me to ask too many questions.’

Seefan drew level with Sarah. ‘It is now just past seven. We are late,’ she whispered in annoyance. ‘Mr. Develin is waiting in the Amber Room. We must hurry.’

‘Not in the library?’ Sarah asked, suddenly alarmed.

‘No,’ Seefan replied, ‘it is the Amber Room which he favours.’

It was easy to see why. Designed for intimacy of scale, the Amber Room was a fraction of the size of the library. In the middle of the long wall stood a huge stone fireplace capable of warming the room quickly and keeping it that way throughout the winter months. The fire was kept burning day and night, and woe betide the parlor maid who failed to see to its care. Over the fireplace hung a magnificent oil painting of a woman dressed in an elaborate costume reminiscent of the turn of the century. The room was furnished with priceless antiques and curios, the sofas and chairs covered in honey-colored velvet, while the floor was carpeted, then overlaid with Oriental rugs in shades of amber. The furniture was solid walnut. A windowless interior chamber, positioned at the center of the house, it was the first of five rooms that together formed the ground floor of the west wing and Richard Develin’s private apartments.

Brett positioned Sarah at the center of the doorway, but before he could knock, Carl opened the door then stepped back to allow Sarah to enter. She hesitated. Straight ahead of her, perhaps fifteen feet away, stood Develin, casually dressed in a loose-fitting velvet jacket in a deep, rich garnet color, dark gray pants, a white shirt open at the neck. A cravat in a shade somewhat lighter than his jacket served to formalize his appearance slightly. The cold blue eyes regarded her fully, taking in every inch of her within seconds.

‘Come in, Miss Churchill,’ he asked, or was it an order? ‘Leave us for a while, Carl. I will call you if I need you.’

Carl nodded then slipped behind Sarah with barely enough room to close the door behind him.

Develin turned towards a set of sofas at right angles to the fireplace, sat down on the one facing Sarah and motioned for her to join him. She stayed where she was.

‘The gown is beautiful, is it not?’ He lit a cigarette with a sterling silver lighter, leaned back and regarded her with mild amusement. Except for a slight lift of her chin that spoke volumes, she remained silent, watching him with eyes that failed to hide her anger, or was it moral indignation? ‘Please, sit down so that we may discuss your future calmly and, I hope, with a minimum of emotion.’

‘I have nothing to say to you.’

‘Splendid!’ He smiled triumphantly. ‘I, however, have much to say to you, so if you would be so kind.’ He indicated the seat beside him. Sarah moved rapidly forward and sat down on the edge of the sofa opposite. He sighed. ‘You are most contrary, Miss Churchill. I must admit, however, that as you are I can better appreciate your beauty.’ He paused. ‘Do you know why you have been brought here?’

‘Yes,’ she replied flatly, keeping her eyes averted. She was having a very difficult time keeping calm. Half of her wanted to cry; the other half wanted to throw something at him. She did neither.

‘Good. We can progress forward then from that basis. Assuming all goes well, I expect to have a son born in late September. Naturally, you will nourish the child for a brief period before he is handed into the care of professionals, including a wet nurse. At that time I will decide whether or not to proceed with a second pregnancy. That decision will depend a great deal on you and of course the condition of the child.’

He watched her closely, prepared for anything. She remained motionless except for her hands, which she held tightly together, the fingers intertwined. The twisting action appeared painful. ‘Have you nothing to say?’

When she looked up, her eyes were bright with tears. ‘I would like to say I hate you. I would like to say I hope you burn in hell.’ She was breathing rapidly, her voice choked with emotion.

‘My dear Miss Churchill, it is immaterial to me what you think of me. Fortunately, human beings have progressed sufficiently far enough along the evolutionary path that conception is more a matter of timing than consent on the part of the female. As far as hell is concerned, I’ve been there and it’s not so bad. Now, have you anything intelligent to say?’

‘What if the child is a girl?’ she snapped.

‘An excellent question. Unlike England’s illustrious King Henry the Eighth, for example, I am aware that it is the male who determines the gender of the offspring. For generations nothing but males have been born in my family, so I expect that I will carry on the tradition.’

Sarah smiled wickedly through her tears. ‘Assuming, of course, that you are your father’s son.’

Develin nodded with a wry smile, acknowledging Sarah’s trenchant insinuation. He rose, tossing the cigarette into the fireplace. ‘Now, unless there is something else, perhaps ...’

‘Laird took several blood samples, which suggested to me that you have concerns. Regarding what ... VD?’

‘Had concerns, that is correct. Is there anything else?’

‘I’ve obviously checked out; how about you?’ Sarah asked pointedly.

‘My dear Miss Churchill, logic dictates that I would hardly contemplate siring a child if I were syphilitic.’

‘That’s not what I am talking about.’

‘Then what are you talking about?’

‘You’ve got to be fifty, so let’s just say that I hope you’re not wasting my time.’

He stared at her, unable at that precise moment to believe what he was hearing. He quickly recovered. ‘Let me assure you that I won’t be wasting your time.’ His eyes washed over her in one quick movement. ‘You just make damn sure that you don’t waste mine.’

Sarah swallowed hard.

‘Are you quite finished?’

‘None of this bothers you, does it? I mean the fact that …’

‘Please, Miss Churchill, spare me a discourse on contemporary morality. The fact that you have remained, how shall I say, sexually naive for so long is more a testament to good luck than good management on your part. If you are having some difficulty handling the situation, that is your problem, not mine. As I have said previously, I am prepared to make things as easy as possible for you, but I am not prepared to indulge you in an endless round of recrimination. Now, unless there is anything else, perhaps we can get on with it.’

She laughed derisively. ‘You make it sound as if you are about to give me a driving lesson or something.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad you are enjoying yourself, Mr. Develin. Deflowering young girls must be a lot of fun, right?’

She could see the anger rise in him as he regarded her with eyes suddenly grown remarkably cold. ‘It may come as a surprise to you, my dear, but I find virgins not only exceedingly tedious, but also insufferable. You are but a case in point. Now, if you are quite finished, Chef has arranged a light supper. It will not be pizza I can assure you, but something interesting nevertheless. Shall we?’

She remained where she was, her head lowered, her face turned away from him.

‘Come come, my dear, surely you are not adverse to a romantic candlelight dinner?’

‘With you?’ she huffed, ‘Where?’

‘I thought that the library might provide the ideal ambience.’ He smiled thinly as she stared up at him, shocked by the realization that he knew everything. ‘What do you think?’ The smile faded from his lips as his eyes narrowed. ‘Get up!’

He backed away far enough to allow her just enough room to get to her feet, but not so far that he was unable to take a firm grip of her left arm.

Carl was waiting in the corridor. As they walked, he fell in behind.

*****

The library stood empty, the lights dimmed. Sarah willed herself to stay calm as her eyes sought out the panels that camouflaged the hidden recess. Just inside the door stood a small table laden with serving trays covered with silver lids, bone china, crystal glasses, linen serviettes, cutlery bearing an elaborate ‘D’ engraved into silver and a small bouquet of white roses set in a cut glass vase. Brett Saunders stood in the corner, silent and watchful.

Without saying a word, Develin drew a chair out for Sarah. She hesitated for a moment then sat down. She failed, however, to note the rapid exchange of order-acknowledgement which passed from Develin to Brett over the top of her head.

When she did look up, Develin was in the process of removing his jacket. Beneath was a rather lethal looking handgun set in an elaborate holster. Before she could react, Brett neatly covered her mouth with a strip of heavy tape. Then he drew her arms back, pinning her to the chair.

She watched in horror as Develin casually draped his jacket over the back of his chair, smiled at her then drew the pistol silently from its leather sheath.

With Carl to one side, they approached the recess. Suddenly Develin stopped then turned to Carl, shaking his head slowly while indicating the secret door. Carl hesitated, uncertain, as Develin continued on to the end of the room where the Chinese partitions stood, partially unfolded. He moved in on the right side then stopped, half hidden now by the screen.

‘Drop the gun, Laird, or I will quite happily blow your brains out.’ Develin pressed the muzzle of his Walther P-38 tight against the base of Laird’s skull. Laird rose from his half-crouched position then threw the gun forward. It hit the base of the doorframe opposite. ‘I could smell the fear emanating from you, Laird, from the far end of the room. Do you take me for a fool or an amateur? Move!’

Laird walked forward slowly, his head bowed under the pressure of Develin’s handgun, his movements clumsy and erratic. The front of his pants was stained dark with urine. He began to wheeze heavily as he was propelled across to the middle of the room.

‘The keys, Laird,’ Develin demanded.

Laird reached into the pocket of his jacket, extracted the ring of keys and held them up. His hand was shaking violently. Develin grabbed them.

‘If I did not have a prior commitment this evening, I would be more than pleased to spend the time taking you apart slowly, piece by piece. Or perhaps I should surrender you to the authorities so that “theft as a servant” can be added to your inventory of crimes.’

Laird’s breathing had been reduced to a husky, wheezing sound. ‘Carl, Doctor Laird seems to be having another asthma attack. Would you be so kind as to take him below and chain him to the wall. The air there works wonders on respiratory tract complaints, or so I have been told.’

‘With pleasure,’ Carl hissed as he took hold of Laird’s left arm and pushed him towards the door. Sarah sat stunned and horrified. When Laird tried to look at her, Carl delivered a glancing blow to the side of his head. ‘That’s Mr. Develin’s property, you treacherous little bastard!’

Develin retrieved Laird’s gun and quickly and efficiently emptied it, the bullets dropping into his open hand. He shook his head in disbelief as he walked back towards Sarah.

‘Thank you, Brett, I can manage. Take these and put them back where they belong, then go and help Mr. Emery.’

‘Sir,’ Brett snapped. He let go of Sarah, took the gun and the ammunition from Develin then raced from the room.

Develin watched, vaguely amused, as Sarah tore at the tape. She finally secured a corner and ripped it off. ‘You monster!’ she screamed.

Develin shrugged as he reached for his jacket. ‘That is a matter of opinion, my dear. At least Doctor Laird is still alive, which is more than might be said of me if his plan had succeeded. Think about it, Miss Churchill - Sarah - while I organize our supper.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Nevertheless, you should have something. It could be a late night.’ He smiled suggestively and received, in return, a look of absolute disgust. As he slipped a plate in front of her, he continued. ‘Perhaps it would help with your perception of the situation if I told you that Doctor Laird is wanted for questioning by Scotland Yard regarding the murder of a colleague. A Miss Tizard, I believe. It would seem that our good doctor was involved in some illegal activities in connection with a banned substance. Miss Tizard inadvertently learned of this, and so he disposed of her. She was strangled, if I am not mistaken.’

‘Liar!’

Develin regarded her with mild amusement before turning to a side table and opening a drawer. ‘I anticipated such a response so I have stored here clippings from the newspapers, dated just last September. Ah, and here is an article with a colour photograph of Doctor Laird.’ He handed them across to Sarah. ‘You will find, Sarah, as you grow older, that no one and nothing is what it seems on the surface.’

He watched her carefully as she read through each piece of information. ‘Do you love him?’ He asked simply, directly.

‘I don’t even know him.’

‘Please, spare me. I have warned you before. I am kept remarkably well informed. You represent a major investment on my part, and now I find that Laird has expressed his love for you both verbally and in writing. He offered to murder me, did he not? Now, what does that suggest to you?’

‘It suggests, Mr. Develin, that you have an overactive imagination.’

He glared at her. ‘And you, Miss Churchill, seem to have a problem appreciating the enormity of the situation.’

‘He didn’t touch me,’ Sarah whispered, her voice suddenly tight with fear and apprehension.

‘Then might I suggest that you prove it. Once I am satisfied,’ he paused long enough to offer her a vicious smile, ‘then I shall see that Laird is let off the hook - literally and figuratively.’

Sarah looked up sharply, her eyes flashing in rage.

‘Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me, miss. If you want to play tough, then I will play tougher. That, my dear, is both a promise and a threat.’ He sighed. ‘Now, unless there is something else, perhaps we can enjoy a quiet bite of supper together.’

His smile was warm this time, self-congratulatory, and not least of all, sexually explicit.

11

They ate in silence throughout the meal. Not once did Sarah raise her head as she carefully tended her plate, for the most part moving bits of food from place to place.

Finally, in exasperation, he dropped his cutlery and glared at her. ‘Eat!’

‘You eat it!’ she snapped back, pushing her plate away, knocking over his glass of wine in the process.

He was out of his chair so fast Sarah had no opportunity to react as he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her forcibly from her seat. ‘Bitch!’ he growled as he dragged her across the room and through the doorway at the far end. The door closed behind them with an audible click, then locked automatically.

He threw her across the room. Sarah almost lost her balance, but was caught in time by the bulk of a large leather sofa. She turned just as Develin reached her, pinning her back against the heavy piece of furniture. Her scream died as he kissed her savagely, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth, probing deeper and deeper until she felt breathless and faint. Desperately she tried to push him away, but he held her fast.

She felt her knees give way as he slowly terminated the kiss, moving his mouth along the line of her cheek to her ear. He whispered to her, the tone low and malicious. ‘You will do exactly as I ask, or Laird will suffer. You will not struggle, nor will you impede me in any way, or I will hurt you. Do you understand me?’

He was breathing hard, his desire for her more than obvious. He traced the index finger of his left hand across the hollow of her throat then down and along her right shoulder, pushing the fabric of her dress aside. ‘Say yes to me, Sarah.’ Frightened and confused, she could barely manage a nod. ‘Say it!’ he demanded.

‘Yes,’ she whispered convulsively, her whole body racked with emotions she had never felt before. When he kissed her again she offered no resistance, although he carefully noted the arch of her spine as she subconsciously thrust herself towards him.

Slowly he backed away from her and, taking her hand gently, led her through into an antechamber. The walls were covered with oil paintings, most of nudes, many with scenes of debauchery and sexual excess. Sarah’s senses reeled as she drew back horrified, only to encounter a bronze statue of two satyrs holding down a young girl while a third prepared to …

She twisted free of him and raced to the door, but it too was locked. Desperately she clawed at the frame, her breathing reduced to a series of ragged gasps. When he touched her shoulder, she froze.

‘Please, I need more time to … to …’

‘There are many things I can offer you, Sarah, but regrettably, time is not one of them.’ Gently he turned her around to face him. She looked straight into eyes grown soft, tender almost, as he smiled down at her. ‘Has it occurred to you as yet, Sarah, that maybe, just maybe, you might enjoy yourself this evening?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Her voice quivered.

‘Well,’ he whispered as he caressed the side of her cheek with the back of his hand, ‘let’s wait and see, shall we?’ He took hold of her hand firmly. ‘Come with me.’

*****

The master bedroom went beyond the bounds of opulence, expressing, in a relatively small space, hundreds of years of wealth and privilege contained within one family. Masculine to the extreme, the decor was reminiscent of a private suite in a men’s club. The predominate shades were green and gold, the colours repeated over and over again in Oriental carpets, oil paintings and the richness of the brocade drapes. The walls were lined with wood panels burnished to a warm shade of lustrous walnut, giving the room a morose, almost brooding atmosphere that Sarah found disconcerting.

More disconcerting still was the massive four-poster bed. The headboard rose gracefully towards the center, the intricately carved wood culminating in a life-size rendering of a wolf’s head, an iron ring clasped between bared fangs.

The covers of the bed had been pulled back, revealing snow-white sheets and six large pillows, arranged in pairs. A small bedside lamp on the far side of the bed cast a pinkish glow across the interior.

A clicking sound attracted her attention. She turned just in time to see Develin open a small wall safe. He drew out the pistol from inside his jacket, checked the safety mechanism, and then deposited it in the safe. He turned. ‘The necklace please, if you don’t mind.’ He began to walk towards her.

‘Yes, of course,’ Sarah stammered. She was prepared to stand her ground, but found herself backing up, instinctively moving away from him as she sought the clasp with trembling fingers.

‘Allow me,’ he suggested as he rapidly closed the distance between them. ‘Turn around.’ Sarah stood stock-still as he pushed her hair to one side, found the clasp and quickly unlocked the intricate fastener.

He found himself staring in fascination at the line of her neck, the shimmering red/gold of her hair, her pale, flawless skin. When he touched the back of her neck with the tips of his fingers, she recoiled.

‘Relax, Sarah, please. It would hardly do for me to initiate our relationship by hurting you.’

‘It’s just that I … I’m scared.’ She swallowed hard, on the verge of tears.

‘No you’re not.’ He whispered close to her ear. ‘I sense in you more a measure of exhilaration than fear, and unless I am very much mistaken you want me just as much as I want you. You know it, and so do I.’

She trembled, breathing hard as he lightly kissed the base of her neck while running both hands across the smoothness of her shoulders. ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, Sarah. There was nothing you did at the beginning to cause this, just as there is nothing you can do now to stop it. Do you understand me?’

He turned her around gently before cupping her chin in his left hand, forcing her head up. Her eyes were closed. ‘Sarah, look at me.’ She shook her head and tried to pull back, to break free of him, but he anticipated her as his right arm wrapped around her waist and she was pulled closer. ‘Look at me,’ he demanded, tightening his grip on her. Slowly her eyes opened, only to be caught by his. At that precise moment she was lost, perhaps because she quite simply wanted to be.

******

The next conscious thought she had was of him, warm flesh pressed close, pushing her down deep into the bed, suffocating her with the weight of his body, and his kisses.

Stunned for a moment, she wondered why she couldn’t remember how she got here, how she lost her clothes, her shoes. ‘No,’ she whispered, trying to push him away, ‘I can’t. I can’t.’ She screamed.

Certain that Sarah would offer nothing in the way of resistance he was caught completely off guard when she panicked, lashing out at him and screaming. Confronted by the specter of an hysterical female he moved fast, far faster in fact than he intended to, allowing his desire for her to outstrip all other considerations.

When he finally let her go, Sarah shrank as far away from him as she could. She had stopped crying, partly because he was becoming more and more upset with her although he was fully aware that he was to blame. He had forced her, terrifying her in the process and hurting her.

By the side of the bed was a control panel. From there he pushed the sequence which started the jacuzzi in the room next door, funneling in warm water mixed with scented foam.

He picked her up in his arms. Her body felt cold and unresponsive as he carried her into the tiled room and gently laid her in the warm water. Her eyes were tightly shut; her face lined with tears.

He knelt down beside the tub. She looked straight at him then, her eyes defensive, guarded. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah,’ he whispered as he reached out to touch her face, but she turned away from him.

The tub was large enough for four people. He moved back to give her room, to allow her the opportunity to mentally explore what had happened and to absorb the shock of his assault. The water warmed and soothed her. After a few minutes she was able to take in her surroundings, finally rounding on him.

‘Why did you do that?’ he demanded. ‘Why did you spoil it ... for both of us?’

‘You … you hypnotized me or something. I …’

‘Nonsense: what happened was that you panicked. You panicked in a manner which suggests … Tell me Sarah, are you claustrophobic?’ He watched her closely. This was news to him and he didn’t like it; no, not one bit.

‘I couldn’t breathe. You were holding me so tight that I …’ Tears welled up. She remembered then what her professor said during a lecture on rape.

“If you are going to say no, say it early on in the piece and get out. If you leave it too late or suddenly decide to change your mind and your partner is fully aroused, it’s very likely that making love will turn into rape just like that.” The professor had snapped her fingers, making several of the students jump. “We are talking power here; you say no and he’ll say yes; forcing the point if you take my meaning.”

Several of the girls in the class laughed but not Sarah.

“You would be living in an ideal world ladies if you believe that most men will back off. It’s not in the nature of the beast. They are not water taps that can be turned on and off at will, bless their little hearts. So, play it safe or don’t play at all.”

And you did spoil it, didn’t you Sarah?

‘Spoil it? I’m sorry, but if that’s what all the noise is about, than a lot of people are hard of hearing.’ She threw a bar of soap, narrowly missing him.

‘It gets better, especially when both parties cooperate fully.’ She shot him a withering glance. ‘Are you all right?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think, Miss Churchill, that if you come closer, I will rub your back.’

‘Tell me first about the new life you have to offer Doctor Laird.’

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘That is blackmail. Besides, under the circumstances, do you think Doctor Laird deserves another chance?’

‘Until proven guilty, yes.’

‘Murder is only one of Laird’s crimes.’ He paused, considering. ‘However, there is a plantation I own in Peru that needs a doctor. Perhaps I can … let me explore the possibilities. Come here.’

She stayed where she was, studying him intently. He returned her gaze quite candidly, his pale blue eyes meeting hers. ‘You are not frightened of me, are you?’

‘Should I be?’

‘Perhaps.’

She turned her head to the side slightly. ‘You’re left-handed.’

‘Not always,’ he replied, vaguely amused and pleased that she had, apparently, weathered the storm after all.

‘Answer me one question.’

‘If I can.’

‘Why me?’

‘I saw you last August and generally speaking, I liked what I saw. Quite simple really.’

‘So you decided to acquire me just like something out of a J.C. Penny window? I would be curious to know what the price tag was.’

He sighed. ‘You were in a restaurant in the city, although the name escapes me at the moment.’ He smiled as he remembered that evening, and her. ‘You were seated at a table close to mine although my view of you was, for the most part, obscured by one of your two companions. I believe she was celebrating a birthday.’

‘Penny,’ Sarah whispered.

‘What was that?’

‘Penny ... Penny Mossman and June Brownling. We grew up together, went to the same high school, were best friends, I guess. I, ah…’ Her lips began to tremble and she felt cold. ‘Will I ever see them again?’ She asked, on the verge of tears.

When she looked at him he was staring at her fixedly. ‘I believe I have mentioned before that I do not wish to discuss this particular subject further. I have satisfied you, I trust, in answering your initial question and that is all I am prepared to say on the matter. Come here.’

‘I am not biddable, Mr. Develin,’ she replied, openly challenging him despite the fresh tears that welled up, clouding her vision.

‘You will be,’ he snapped. ‘Do as I ask, Sarah, before I become angry. I have apologized to you once; I will not do so again. You have exactly thirty seconds.’

‘You’re nothing but a bully and I hate you!’

‘Twenty.’

She almost succeeded in leaping from the tub before he caught her and pulled her to him. ‘Please let me go. I promise I won’t say anything. I ...’

‘Understand this, you are mine and you will remain mine until such time as I choose to release you.’ He pulled her roughly from the tub. ‘Put this on,’ he ordered, handing her one of two terry cloth bathrobes.

Trembling with fear, unable to see through a blanket of tears, she fumbled with the garment until he moved forward to help her. ‘Sarah, I forbid you to cry,’ he said almost tenderly.

‘Do you?’ she choked. ‘Well I’m sorry, but I … I can’t comply with that request, sir.’ Exhausted, frightened and confused, she dropped to her knees. ‘Let me talk to my father, please … tell him I’m all right. He’ll be …’

‘No!’

‘Please, I’m all he’s got now. Please, please, he isn’t well!’

‘I’ve said no, now get up!’ When she refused him, curling up instead into a ball as if to protect herself from him, he backed away. ‘All right, I will give you time to sort through the options you seem to think are available to you. However, I should caution you, I am not a patient man.’

He returned to the bedroom and sat in a chair by the window, waiting.

It didn’t take Sarah long to sort through her options - she had none - and she was wise enough to know it. But, just as she was sufficiently composed and resigned to the situation to go to him, she remembered something Seefan had said. Something suddenly very significant - he had no heir.

Well Sarah, maybe you have an option or two after all.

*****

She knelt down at his feet and looked up straight into his eyes. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any distress. I shall endeavor in future to … to. ...’ Her resolve evaporated beneath his level gaze. ‘Oh God in heaven, help me!’

He leaned forward and stroked her hair. ‘You may write to your father.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied, her voice shallow and breathless.

He took both her hands inside his. She trembled as he pulled her closer to him. ‘Sarah, I don’t want to hurt you again. What I am asking of you is difficult I know, but I am committed to a course of action. There is nothing you can say or do that will in any way alter what must be. Do you understand me?’

Sarah nodded, fighting back the tears.

‘Good. Now, there are two very different and distinct ways in which we can go about this. Since, as I have said, I do not wish to hurt you or in any way degrade you, I think it best if you allowed yourself the opportunity to explore a new facet of your life; one which you have already been introduced to now in any case.’

She looked away then tried to draw back.

‘No, Sarah, listen to me.’ He gripped her tighter, forcing her to focus. ‘I want you and I shall have you, one way or the other. It remains for you now to make a decision. You are no longer a child but a young woman, and unless I am very much mistaken, you know exactly what your needs and desires are despite your inordinate attempts to suppress them.’

‘Do I?’ she asked in a whisper as she gazed deep into his eyes.

‘Oh yes,’ he said smiling as he stood, pulling her up with him.

The first time he kissed her she held back, uncertain and afraid, but by the second and most certainly the third, she reached for what he offered her willingly and without reservation.

*****

She stood knee deep in water, black as ink and cold as death itself. A savage wind tore at her hair, screaming in her mind while the tide pulled relentlessly at her, clawing at her feet, undermining the sand on which she stood. She swayed, too terrified to move. On the shore stood her mother, dressed in a gown of purest white, crowned with a bridal veil caught in a diamond tiara.

‘Mother, help me!’

‘Find happiness child; find love,’ her mother whispered as she slowly drew back, away from the water’s edge.

‘Mother, please don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me again. I need you.’

‘I will always be with you my darling ... always ... always.’

Sarah gasped as she tore free of the dream and woke to utter silence.

The small bedside light glowed still, its soft pinkish cast illuminating the massive bed in which she lay trembling as the dream receded. She froze. Hesitantly at first she moved, expecting to touch him, to find him beside her.

‘Did I wake you?’

She spun around. He was standing by the window dressed in a pale blue shirt, open at the neck, grey pants and a navy blue silk robe.

‘No, I, ah…’ Words caught in her throat as he moved towards her.

‘I have work to do, but when I … Do you know, you are as extraordinarily beautiful asleep as you are awake.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Are you in pain? If you are, I can get you some …’

‘No … thank you,’ she whispered, her voice thin and anxious.

He nodded. ‘You are welcome to stay here for the rest of the night. I would prefer it, if you don’t mind. You won’t be disturbed.’

He reached out and touched her hair, gently pulling the loose strands out and across the pillow. His fingers trembled. ‘Quite beautiful,’ he whispered almost abstractly as he watched the light play in her hair. He frowned. ‘You are not a whim on my part, Sarah, but something very, very special to me. No matter what happens, I want you to know that.’

He leaned forward and gently kissed her brow. ‘Good night. Sleep well.’ He rose abruptly and left the room.